Without Parole
by RenjiLuvah
Summary: G.T. Blitz has left his most prized possession, the ownership of Kras' Combat Racing Franchise, to none other than his second in command. To a Crime Lord on the rise, that was just as good as stuffing it into a vault and shooting it into the sun. \RxR/
1. Butcheree Cliffs

**Butcheree Cliffs**

Brazilian Cherry – the flooring was a favorite of her mother's. It was all over the mansion before her death. In spite of how young she was, Rayn could still recall the thick accent softly reprimanding her in the kitchen. The floor was so red, it was like treading through blood. Whenever little Rayn spilt her breakfast juice on her mother's prized floor, there was a brief instance of relief, short-lived until her mother wiped it clean.

After her mother's death, she watched her father, a hundred pounds lighter; rip it up in a blind and heartbroken fury. The pieces snapped and cracked loudly, echoing through the hollow halls of her 600-acre home for days. The small girl with unbraided hair held a knitted Croca-Dog to her heart, standing at the doorway amidst the aftermath of what looked like the splinters of blood spatter.

Waxed Amazonian Rosewood hinged just right under a pair of running sneakers. It was eighth period in the west wing gym when the team would play.

Whenever she was able to dodge her studies after classes, the Krew Heiress would manage to watch a few games from the sidelines. The other girls rose shamelessly, allowing their pleated skirts to parachute as they cawed like a flock of crows. Rayn could only tolerate an hour before the squawking of the girls and the squeaking floors reminiscent of gurney wheels got to her.

When mother could no longer scold Rayn for pinning her eyes to her feet, her father took her place in tapping her chin, "Cor blimey, lift your chin girl. You're a daughter of Krew, ey."

Perhaps, it was the reason Rayn took note of not only the flooring beneath her toes, but her environment in general, absorbed it all like a sponge, even at twenty years of age. Old habits die hard, after all.

And now as she wobbled along broken concrete that threatened to topple her heels, she was back in the gym again. Almost three years ago, as a ripe high school girl returning from the refreshment of summer, Haven shopping sprees and shoot out range included. Just as she was debating between watching the game or putting up those curtains in her dorm, she turned to find her shoulders caught by one of her classmates.

"Rayn! Rayn!"

"_What?_" She snapped, startled by the rough gesture that had almost knocked her from her feet. Had she not been amidst a lover's quarrel, as some would call it, the Heiress would have been in a much more social mood.

"Quick! Behind the old building! It's James!"

Asphalt - a range of color and texture that can be found almost everywhere and therefore difficult to avoid. Rayn had her personal qualms with it, and daily, she confronted that anxiety in ways others were unaware of.

Concrete was cold, hard, and merciless, a discovery she had made all too well when she was a child in Haven and again during her last year of high school.

Rayn pushed through a roaring crowd, abandoning her schoolbooks that were swallowed by the mass and feeling her loose braid yank as she struggled to push forward. The spectators were wild, thrusting their fists into the air and shouting obscenities. When she managed to stumble into the front lines and take a gander at what the big fuss was about, the young woman felt a new anger rise in her.

"James McSweeney! Stop it! This instant!"

Bones cracking and tendons ripping against the concrete was an unmistakable crunch that she found she would never forget. It happened so fast, and the last she remembered, she had reached out with a muted scream. The skull had already blemished the floor, sending all witnesses on their heels from what was now a murder scene.

"James!"

"Are you all right, Miss Krew?"

And she was back again.

When she felt the careful fingers of her bodyguard shadow over her shoulder like the appendages of a tarantula, the woman sucked in a shiver. Swallowing the gravel in her throat, she straightened; Her mind returned from its reverie.

"I'm fine. Thank you. We mustn't doss about."

Her guard tried to protest, but the Heiress walked on. Determined. Unrelenting. Her game face on.

Krew passed through all the proper procedures. In a place like this outside of Kras, there was nothing a low collar and a lot of money couldn't induce to a staff of brute gorillas.

Butcheree Cliffs.

It was a few hours off from the ever-so-lively Kras City. The prison was famed for being one of the worst. After all, only a prison matching in likeliness could contain the men that were locked up here. In a judicial system full of political ringleaders who whipped their beasts through hoops of fire, if an animal was neutered into this penitentiary, he was out of commission.

While Kras wasn't_ entirely_ unlawful, popular for it's ritzy shopping areas, media demanding sports arenas, high-end dining, and major international trade, men who were swallowed into the bowels of Butcheree were prisoners of war. And by war, she meant, prisoners of organized crime.

Butcheree Cliffs was a 400-acre facility, soaring atop a plateau in the center of sharp jagged rocks that were then fortified by ocean. There was only one road - one way in or out. Heavily guarded and surrounded by such merciless topography, escape was unfathomable.

Such a place was horrifying for the poor souls who faced their final judgment here. For one soul, however, Rayn surmised that he must have felt right at home.

_Razer…_

* * *

"Where is it, Razer? I demand that you tell me."

The man was confident and Rayn couldn't blame him. She'd practically done him a favor.

While rumor of her rule had spread like wildfire and Mizo's henchmen had either turned in their applications or ran for the hills, this was the one man who was haughty enough to return home after his loss during the Blue Eco Cup. The only reason why he wasn't swimming with the fishes beneath Bloody Hook's bridge was because as soon as he dropped out of touch from failing his mission to exterminate Jak, Mizo had become so irate with defeating the Eco-channeler, that he'd left his business with his lieutenant for a later date. Unfortunately for Mizo, that later date would never come, allowing Razer to escape his punishment and giving Rayn a new thorn in her side.

In spite of his humiliation due to Jak's win, with the threat of elimination gone with Mizo's passing, the retired racer was keen on catching up with his reading while brewing a large mug of _Ristretto._ And just as he was doing so, Rayn Krew rapped on the door to his loft with an ultimatum he knew was coming.

Rather than submitting, the former champion dog-eared the page he was on. He stood unmoved from his expensive leather seat, because guest or not, Razer did _not_ feel inclined to greet her as she let herself in.

"My, my, miss Krew. It _is_ rather late for a little heart to heart, don't you think?"

"_Razer._ Please don't make this anymore difficult than it already is."

"You know a conjurer gets no credit when once he has explained his trick…"

"Quoting literature in an attempt to stall now, are we?"

The older man certainly liked to play the coy one. _Wondrous_ actor he was at times. If she hadn't known the claws behind that shiny coat of fur, Rayn would have been tempted to tousle his ego with adoration. But the Krew princess had already lost patience.

Two weeks had swept past, the media still buzzing over the mysterious death of renowned reporter G.T. Blitz and his connection to the notorious underground alias Mizo. Rayn was present hours before the reading of his Will, ready to catapult out of her chair with a whopping cheer the moment she heard the magic words.

Minutes were wasted as she listened painfully to every specific belonging - from his grandest vehicle down to his silver tweezers - they were all listed with their inheritors. It wasn't until the very end, that Gervasio Tammaro Blitz had left his most prized possession for last. The ownership of Kras' Combat Racing Franchise that had been in his family for generations, beginning from the 70's back when Rapine X-7's were all the rave out in the East. Not having an heir, or at least one conceived in wedlock, Blitz signed off his very pride to the one man that had been nothing, but loyal to him for almost two decades.

"Hand it over to me, Razer."

"Oh? What's wrong, Krew? Daddy never taught you how to share?"

Nailing her palms, and becoming visibly red, the Crime Lord gathered her wits. The hall of Famer was taking the piss out of her and her fingers, itching to _wring_ his neck. Before the official reading by Mizo's executor, Rayn assumed that the Franchise would be left to someone whom she could easily convince, like the bank. Unfortunately for her, the Franchise was not left idle, and instead, handed to his second command, which was as good as stuffing it into a vault and shooting it into the sun.

Even so, Rayn was an optimist. She prayed that Razer would have the intelligence to just move on after Mizo's era was over. After all, there would be nothing here for the man and such a burdensome industry would do nothing, but wear the retiree out. Right?

_Wrong. _

Here he was. Two weeks later, the retired racer successfully indulged in his reward without sign of resignation. Carelessly, Razer slouched in his chair as if moments before she arrived, his biggest dilemma was whether to turn in for the night early or shower first.

The woman inhaled and exhaled. Very deeply. With evident dismay.

"The ownership deeds to the racing Franchise, Razer."

"What about them, _mein schätzchen_?"

Ignoring his blatant attempt to tease her, Rayn stepped forward, blocking any escape he had - not that her body was so wide or her stance so rigid that the man could not have easily removed her just by poking the right roll of flesh - but that was _beside_ the point.

She _needed_ to be _intimidating_. _Threatening_.

Although from the looks of it, the angrier she got, the more Razer appeared as if he wanted to pet her. That was okay for now though. The man could underestimate her all he wanted, but fact of the matter was, even if she didn't frighten him yet, she had _other_ means of striking that fear into him. Those _other _means were dawdling outside and awaiting command so that they could claim their bounty.

"Heavens to Mar, if you don't sign it over to me or sod off, I will make you regret it."

There was a moment of silence. The two suited heavies behind her warily fingered their beam reflexors. The team of Kras Feds beside the doorway glared bloody murder through the egotistical racer whose name had been marked on their most wanted lists for years. Confident that such a large group of men were on the prowl and prepared to pounce at the snap of her fingers, the woman matched eyes with the man seated below her.

When he slowly stood up, Rayn retreated. Stance straight, his eyes now above hers, the Crime Lord was sure she had knocked some sense into him when once again, she couldn't have been more wrong.

His voice broiled her forehead when he whispered.

"A Kras City Racing Champion lives a life of no regrets."

* * *

"Miss Rayn Krew. I'm to be expected."

"Ah, yes, Miss Krew. Officer Ruiz is waiting inside."

Arriving at the gate lodge, Rayn was relieved that she didn't have to talk much.

Money. Assets. Access.

Ruiz was the one of the officers in charge of solitary confinement. The man would lead her there just as he had been doing the past 14 days since Razer had been impounded. He was a heavy man, whose shoulders rivaled one of her father's best men, Sig. Tattoos blackened the rock-strewn features of his face. Beside her, she collected two of her finest muscles to accompany her into the depths.

The penitentiary was worlds away from the one in Haven, although the overall aura of it did not change. Haven's cells were solely beneath what had been the Baron's Palace at the time she'd been there last. And while the wretched intestines had winded into acid beneath Haven, in comparison, Butcheree clawed and vanished into the clouds. There were mainly four sections for residents: Psychiatric, Political, Military, and those whose existence would forever remain unlabeled. Abandoned. Sent to the incinerator, at the mercy of anyone who was ready to bump them off on whim.

Razer was at this mercy…

Those who awaited disposal resided in what the inmates and staff liked to refer to as _L'abîme – _The Abyss. It was the only section that went down rather than up. So, much to Rayn's dismay, she was heading into the basement of the prison.

"Are you all right, Miss Krew?"

She hadn't noticed her pause in the middle of the steps.

"Quite all right. Carry on."

Before she could savor the taste of a familiar and unwanted memory, Rayn kept her eyes on the floor whenever she felt the reminiscence, bad habit again.

Concrete.

Resisting the draft licking her calves and the ice creeping under her heels, she followed silently.

Once they'd sunk two levels deep, the halls howled. Metal rung against the vertical bars while indecent and profane humor cheered against her back. The air smelled as if she was face first into a bog.

Remaining expressionless, the Crime Lord discarded her emotions to the cuffs she twisted between her manicured nails.

"One more level, Miss Krew. I know you requested that we confine him as close to the surface as possible, but it was the only spot we had in the hole considering how _popular _the guy is."

Rayn made an expression that was somewhat of a pout and a cringe at the same time.

"_Popular_. _That_ he is. Too bad it doesn't serve him well under such _circumstances_."

As they arrived upon level 3-D, third level descending, Ruiz came to a full stop, abruptly catching Rayn off guard and having her face kiss his shoulder.

"Is there something wrong, Officer Ruiz?"

Ruiz cleared his throat.

"Don't you hear it?"

The woman sighed, straining her ears and squinting down the dimness of the hall that blackened towards its end, the darkness gaping its maw like the jaws of a black hole.

"Nothing. I don't hear anything."

The howling had stopped. The bars were silent, but the floor still seemed to tremble beneath her soles.

"Exactly, Miss Krew. That's the problem."

* * *

It was approximately three o'clock according to Razer's internal clock. By this time, he waited in anticipation for his most _amusing_ companion. Bundle of fun that one was.

After all, making a mockery of those inferior to him was one of Razer's favorite pastimes.

Sure, it was nothing_ nearly_ as exciting as the wind boxing his ears out on the tracks and the notes of symphony comforting them on a quiet night after the finish line was crossed, but as of late, he seemed to be short on wheels and stereos. And so, this guest was the new highlight of his day. That and when Officer Gianni Accardo, associate from the Accardo Syndicate, came by around eight to slip a fresh box of smokes through the bars.

They were no _Haus Bergmann's_, but they would do for now.

Razer estimated about another week tops before Krew either bailed him out or left him to rot. If the latter was the result, the racer already had some luggage shoved into a locker at the terminal, ready for pickup after he was done re-paying his _sweet_, little princess for the vacation she so graciously sent him on. The new Crime Lord was in for a surprise if she thought that she could lock him up and throw away the key.

As if punctuating this very thought, Officer Weasley strolled by, giving the thick steel door a rap.

Razer didn't need to speak. The man already knew he was listening.

"Sir, princess at six o' clock. About twenty cells down."

A thin and unadorned blade was slipped into the small window that only slid open from the outside. The weapon looked as if it had been fashioned from the pieces of steel scraped off the very bars that caged the prisoners. Despite the lack of appropriate material, the skill of a blacksmith was evident in the piece.

"Bane from two cells up sent you this as a parting gift."

Bane was a former acquaintance of his and was known for being a valued member of their pit crew for years. He was famous for sharpening the edges of their vehicles so crisp, a strand of hair floating over their bumpers would instantly split in half upon contact.

Two years after his own retirement from the tracks, Mizo conducted a downsizing of staff. Several cuts and placements were shifted around amongst gang lords and their minions, and Bane, by then, was deaf in one ear due to a Red Eco explosion by the pit lane. The man was forced out of commission at the age of sixty while he still had the arms of a thirty-year-old lumberjack. Unable to live a life without crime-related work, and eager to make profit, the former henchman was suckered into completing a job where his crooked, and rich, client sung like a bird, thus saving himself.

The former Mizo employee was trialed and sentenced to death for a murder he was hired to complete. His client was a big earner for the family and therefore free from the blame due to his connection. Bane's only motive for completing the contract was that he could live no other way, and that way of life would now send him to his demise.

"Send him my regards," Razer slipped his last cigarette back through the window.

The racer could almost _hear_ the astonishment on the other side of the door. Razer did _not share_ his smokes with anyone - especially his _last_.

"I'm sure he will be very honored, Sir. A splendid treat to indulge in during his last hours."

"Carry on."

The slot closed and Razer waited. Sliding an appreciative thumb over the blade, he whispered, _Ruhe in frieden, mein freund_, before slipping the weapon into the band of his slacks. Just as he expected from Bane, the knife was smooth and harmless against his back until he was ready to whip its edge against someone's neck.

Tapping his stubble shaded chin, he waited for his esteemed guest. About another two minutes had passed before the clicking of heels became clear.

Razer put on his best grin just for her.

* * *

They liked to call this floor, _The Abattoir_.

It was one below Razer's solitary confinement and was primarily used for interrogation away from the eyes of the law that forbade its techniques. The cells below the prison were damp, without windows and without heat. Entering the interrogation room, Rayn noticed that this area was practically a sewer, tiled floors and walls darkened with rust. A metal desk parked in the middle of the room, between two chairs, and a table lamp. It appeared normal enough until Rayn looked to the left and right sides of the room where white sheets concealed the farthest corners. Arching a brow, she shared a wary look with Ruiz before contemplating to herself.

Interrogation tools…

The Crime Lord had little doubt that what was hidden beneath those sheets were an array of objects competing with that of a twisted surgeon's tool box. The woman inwardly hoped she wouldn't have to resort to such methods. Boss of Kras or not, it was not something she was used to.

The two officers walked Razer inside and to her astonishment; he gave little, if no, resistance at all. In fact, his beaming grin hinted that he might've been kicked off his trolley.

Speaking her mind, she asked, "Have you finally gone barking or is this sort of thing a fetish of yours?"

Razer huffed, resting his back against the table.

"Just another day, Krew. Just another day…"

"Untie him," she ordered firmly and the two officers obeyed. The prisoner's expression hardened.

"All right, Razer. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. You've been trying my patience for days and I think I've had my fill. _Where_ are the deeds?"

No answer.

Silence thickened the air enough that too strong of an inhale would gag any of the persons standing in the room. The Krew Heiress broke the spell when she clicked a few paces until she was standing face-to-face with the Convict in question. Viridian eyes previously focused on his shackle-less wrists, Razer looked up, his wild and untamed hair wafting over his forehead. Standing almost nose-to-nose with the retired champion, the officers and guards alike exchanged looks of either admiration or fear for the woman so bluntly confronting the black jaguar who's triceps tightened as if ready to pounce.

"_Razer._"

"_Krew._"

"One last chance."

"I don't accept charity."

"So, it's the hard way, then?"

He whispered so softly, only her ears could pick up his response.

"I _dare_ you…"

She resisted the urge to slam her heel into the concrete as hard as she could muster, (It would be a waste - these were new shoes). Rayn circled away to the mysterious sheets on the other end of the room.

"Get him on the wall," she commanded. Throwing off the sheets, the shelves of metal and steel dully reflected the dim light above them.

Expecting to hear a struggle and averting her eyes from the act, she was a tad worried when nothing of the sort was heard behind her. Feeling her chest grow heavy, she turned.

None of the men had moved. Instead, Razer's haughty expression returned.

"You underestimate me, Krew. Here. Allow me to personally lend you aid."

The men drew back, watching with wide eyes as the inmate removed his shirt and carelessly cast it aside. With nonchalance, Razer turned, offering his own back for her ways. Speaking volumes with this action alone, Krew was infuriated by the insult.

Fingering the _cat o' nine tails_ that she had pulled from the rack, she hissed, "Everyone, get out. _Now_."

Ruiz moved to object, "M-Miss Krew, are you sure that's a wise-"

Once her threatening gaze had scalded him, the officer dipped his head in defeat, and all three of the men, aside from Razer, exited the room. There was a deafening whine as the door shut and bolted behind them. The racer stood motionless in front of her, his back still in position. Even with the terrible lighting, the scars and wounds across his skin were still visible, the aftermath from his experience out on the circuit and in the Underground.

Her fingers clamped the _Cat,_ eyes unable to withdraw from the tell tale lacerations and lines that blanketed his back so loudly, that not even his tattoos could silence them.

Rayn had to admit, it took a lot of courage to stand so close to him with such a sight confronting her.

"All right. You win, Razer. What do you want?"

Her enemy spun to meet her eyes, his smile gone and his gaze unwavering.

Before she could open her lips to speak, the room went black.

Right before she lost sight, she could have sworn that she heard the voice of her father, shouting her name from his grave…

* * *

"All right. You win, Razer. What do you want?"

Razer was not surprised by her surrender. He _expected_ it. Since the very day she had put him in this Mar forsaken place, this was the moment the man was waiting for.

The moment that the Great Razer made Rayn Krew submit…

Facing her, the man searched for the right opportunity in which he could turn the tables. As if some divine power had replied, the lights above them failed. Her short gasp signaled her confusion. The lights had caught her off guard.

He did not fight the darkness. Instead, he closed his eyes. The flares beneath his eyelids would fade and, in the meantime, there was something he needed to achieve.

"You- bloody-"

At the hitch of her breath, Razer twisted the woman's wrists. The joints were fragile inside his large hands, easily behaved by his grip, his thumbs against her throbbing pulse. With all the fight he'd expect from the daughter of Mizo's rival, Rayn did not scream and squeal like a damsel in distress, and instead, wrestled fiercely against his hold, using her legs to kick at his shins. Despite that her hits were connecting, it wasn't enough to free her.

"Quite the fighter, you are, Princess-"

Razer complimented genuinely with some strain, until he had successfully pinned her against the edge of the table, each of her knees blocked by his own. He lifted her with a grunt, approving of the clatter on the floor from her lost heels.

"Razer- I swear-"

The racer laughed as she cursed, hovering over her weight until she calmed. He patiently waited for the fish out of the water to still. Rayn finished her threat.

"-I'm going to _kill_ you."

The lights flickered back on, returning in small intervals of black where in between the Convict could make out the fear in her eyes. Proud woman, she pretended to be, but when blinded, angry tears bubbled her vision - ones that refused to fall. The second time he caught her expression, he realized he was not the source of her tears.

His intention not to break the woman, but to humble her a bit, Razer loosened his grip on one wrist to her back, supporting the head of hers that hung so awkwardly in the air. At first she hiccupped with his touch, and understanding that there was no immediate threat, relaxed into it.

"Good girl," Razer spread over her exposed throat, sensing the cringe she was making above his line of vision. She smelled like the spice of pumpkin cream, and it was rather difficult to hide his hunger due to the lack of enjoyable meals as of late.

* * *

With no other choice, but to use her free hand to either clutch onto him or the table for balance, Rayn chose the table. She refused- _refused-_ to touch him anymore than she had to. With one hand crippled by his grip and the other, so desperately clinging onto the surface, the woman growled with venom, every muscle in her body tensing for the chance to stab him with the closest object she could find.

She could feel his words trickle down her thorax, his loose hair teasing her skin.

"Good girl…"

"Your attempt to flatter me with cooing is _failing_. _Horribly_."

The hostility gone and the racer simply subduing her without hurting her, he apologized.

"Hmm, Miss Krew. No need to be so spiteful. After all, _you_ asked for it."

Not being able to counter that, she agreed reluctantly, "You're right. I suppose this is a small price to pay for sticking you in here. But I _still _want to kill you."

He nodded, "You would not be Krew's daughter if you didn't."

The lighting steadied and Rayn found her hammering heart slowing down. It was a naïve mistake on her part - allowing some childish phobia of hers to interfere with her business. Now she was enduring the consequences. Reaping what she had sown.

Taking the time to breathe deeply, she knew that the racer would allow it and so she eased up. His unyielding structure currently filled the gap between their uncomfortable embrace, her stomach flush to his chest. Even when she felt his fingers unfurl from her back and slowly draw up her inner thigh, Rayn was as docile as a newly born Muse.

As he cautiously reached for the pistol she had tucked into the violet garter around her right thigh, Rayn could not resist a phony smile. Razer reacted the same, their eyes competing fiercely as he wrapped his hand around the grip and removed the weapon.

"I see metal detectors are not what they used to be these days."

Victoriously, she bragged, "Money. Assets. Access."

Rayn watched as he thrust the firearm across the table until it fell and slammed loudly into the steel chair beneath it. As he returned to support her back, she rolled her eyes, "Are we done here now that we're all unarmed and harmless?"

"Unarmed I may be, but I am _never_ harmless."

The woman felt that half cringe, half pout thing happening again before he gestured at her hands. It was either she held onto him or it was going to be a bumpy ride.

_Nice day to wear a skirt, Rayn._

Razer released her wrist, securing her knee instead. Feeling her weight yank backwards, Rayn threw her arms around his neck, but not without resentment. The woman locked gazes with him as he slid her forward, careful to keep her skirt from riding up as he landed her on the ground. Once she was on her feet, it was time to get to work.

"What do you want, Razer? Women? Money? A new car or something else that tickles your fancy?"

"No, no, nothing so arbitrary, Krew-"

"Rayn. Just call me Rayn. We're not exactly _too_ formal now, are we?"

Her smile was wry as she patted the leg over where her garter was hidden. Amused, and clothed, Razer settled into a chair.

"All right, _Rayn_. I want you to fulfill three requests of mine before I tell you where I have hidden the deeds to my Boss' Franchise."

"_Late_ Boss-" She stressed before he wagged a finger.

"Do _not_ tempt me into changing my mind."

A pause before the racer resumed.

"Three requests. They shouldn't take long. Anywhere from a few days to weeks depending on how swiftly you complete them."

"And why should I fulfill these requests rather than just having you executed and turning your loft upside down?"

"Because you're an intelligent woman and unlike my _late_ Boss, you prefer the use of bribery-"

"Negotiations-"

"-over force which is how you managed such a team of financial and useful _friends_. If you kill me, there is a chance that you will never find the deeds. I also have my own Testament and Will prepared for the day I decide to leave this wretched planet and believe me, you will _not_ like who I leave the business to anymore than you liked Mizo leaving it to me."

"Why, Razer, I hadn't the slightest idea that such an invincible man was prepared for his own death."

"I'm always prepared. For _anything_."

* * *

Winter was bitter every year in Kras. Walking along the Seaport Strip mid-season had winds hard enough that they threatened to ground him. If that wasn't enough, Razer always felt like he had to slouch forward to keep his heels on the concrete once he neared the Loading Docks.

The aroma of the salty ocean numbing his nostrils was a bittersweet indulgence. The racer did not fold himself to shield from the cold. In comparison to his home country where the temperatures were usually below freezing point at ten degrees below zero, the balmy thirty degrees in Kras felt like a summer vacation. It was the blasted wind that aggravated him.

"_Scheiße!_"

Cursing himself after his fifth attempt to keep his cigarette lit, Razer walked briskly past the last strips of shops before the docks appeared. He always hated dealing with Mizo's imports. A few of his own would meet him there, but apparently, Boss always designated him as the main mediator because of his uncanny talent to negotiate with men calmly without wanting to kill them- at least right away.

His communication skills serving more as a burden than a talent, the racer inwardly wished his fellow thugs would someday learn a little sociology. It would pay off to teach them how to handle these meetings on their own without a brawl breaking out between the bloodthirsty racers and the foreign ship crew- but unfortunately that belief was nothing more than wasted optimism.

When Razer spotted a small group of men standing by the lamppost, he nodded.

"Has the ship arrived yet?"

"Ship's already unloading the cargo, Boss," huffed Edje, his words fogging the air.

Edje, Shiv and Cutter followed Razer wordlessly and obediently. UR-86 was usually not involved. Seemed the piece of artificial intelligence made the foreigners wary. The first and last time they brought him along, they tried to accuse Mizo for installing a camera into the bot. This actually wasn't true, but considering how well built UR-86 was and how he was treated as another person rather than a machine, the pirates were less than hospitable to it. And so, on escort missions, because they had to work in four man teams, the android would join them as their rear guard later, after negotiations were complete.

"Ahoy there, lad!"

"_Hallo, wie geht es dir?_"

Razer always greeted him in native tongue.

The fence gave him a healthy slap on the back, the gray in his wiry beard yellowing from all the grog and his cheeks rosy year round. He was also a designated mediator for his captain. They dubbed him, "Anchor".

"I see you've brought ye hoarde of bilge-sucking landlubbers with ya- as always."

Responding to the obvious discontent of his companions, Razer reminded, "It's only a safety precaution, Anchor. You already know the procedures. We'll be in and out of your hair as long as the cargo checks out."

This was the reason why it was necessary for Razer to tag along on these trips. Had his men come on this mission without him, that comment alone would have triggered them to unlock the safety on their pistols. Razer, on the other hand, didn't let Anchor get to him.

It was just business. As long as Mizo got what he wanted and the crew received proper payment, he could care less what some group of salt-water loving misfits with missing teeth had to say about him.

"No worries 'ere lad. Loot's in shipshape on the docks - Cap'n's orders."

Anchor limped into the shadows of the loading docks where the storage sheds piled as high as six story buildings. Razer continued to fight with his lighter against his smoke. Edje, Shiv and Cutter trailed behind again, their hands in their pockets and their frozen faces tucked into their collars.

"Smartly there, men," Anchor remarked at Razer's companions, who were falling behind. The racer glanced backwards to lend them a sharp glare as a reminder to behave. None of them reacted. They _knew_ better.

When they reached their shipments and Razer was confident that all their imports were prepared, Anchor stopped him abruptly.

He beckoned for Razer, "A moment of yer time, m' boy."

Obediently, the racer gave his men one last eye before following the sailor to one of the crates.

"Ya' see, we've been conductin' our business with Mizo for some time now, ey?"

Razer hummed.

"It's been nothin' but good times- the sweet trade, that is. So I thought I'd throw a bit of extra swag into the merchandise this time around-"

With a grunt and what looked like a threatening gesture, Anchor commanded his men to scramble and open the crate. It took some time to get the doors open, the hinges stiff because of the weather. Struggling against the wind, the doors opened, revealing a sleek new model of Havoc from across the seas.

Curbing any temptation to run his hands across its shiny, new fender, Razer stood true to the mission, "What's the occasion?"

Careful to tame the man's suspicion, Anchor shook his head, "No occasion, matey. Just a bit' o' friendly loot between buckos."

"All right, then. If there is no occasion, what's the catch? Pardon my pessimism, but merchants of your kind are not known for giving away gifts."

Anchor laughed, revealing the holes in his gums and holding the pouch of flesh leaking over his belt. "That's what I like about you, lad. Sharp as a gulley."

Just then, Anchor pulled out a lighter from his pocket, and held the flame to Razer's smoke. When the racer took a drag, his nerves relaxed and his ears opened.

"You have my attention."

"Closer, lad. The winds howl."

Closing the distance between himself and the sailor, the criminal could distinguish the rum along Anchor's breath. Despite his red shot eyes, his words were in all seriousness.

"I've been keeping me deadlights open 'round these ports lately. Seems there's some scuttlebutt floatin' 'round about some unknown ships making port here- packed full of Lobsters with loot of their own, ya savvy?"

"Hmm. I see."

In other words, someone other than Mizo was making business here. Ships that the sailors were not familiar with were docking with merchandise that they were unaware of. The problem was, that Kras' Underground was essentially controlled by the Mizo family and it's allies. Mizo knew what came in and what came out. For new ships to arrive that did not belong to the government and did not belong to the Underground - it was mysterious indeed. Where they were coming from was just as odd.

Troubling, even. Mizo would not be pleased.

"So, I assume the extra trimming on our import is to secure us as customers? What's the matter, old man? Fearful of a little competition, hmm, hmm?"

"Never! Avast, m' boy. Whatever's stirring the waters is heading right fer ya. Don't say I never warned ya."

"I understand. I'm sure Mizo will be appreciative of your loyalty. Business will progress as usual."

"Arrr! Good to hear," Anchor punctuated with a rough slap to Razer's back. The movement caught him by surprise and snuffed out his smoke. The Champion cringed.

"All right, ye scurvy dogs, weigh anchor! Handsomely now!"

The seaman turned back to Razer, "Fair winds, Lad. Fair winds."

The racer watched as the shady group of robbers growled and grunted, stuffing and stomping into their ship as loudly as a military march. He monitored as his men called in the trucks. The racer was left only with his thoughts until the last parcels of import were being hurried onto their vehicles.

A scuffle was catching the attention of civilians a few feet off. A small crowd congregated and disbursed as fast as it had formed, and two blood-faced men scattered at the wail of sirens.

Razer turned to the trucks in time to see Cutter shy away from the familiar scene.

"_Die Bullen kommen._"

Razer gave Edje the signal. A police car was at least a mile away. They'd be here in less than five minutes, so it was time to move.

The knife wielder sprinted to aid in yanking down the back door. As Edje and Shiv instantly split to get to their vehicles and escort the transport safely from rivaling criminals, Razer commented to a hesitating Cutter.

"Homesick, Cutter?"

The henchman grunted under his mask, fog filtering from the bars over his mouth. He wasn't usually a talker, but when he did speak, he was simple and to the point. Razer favored this in the former street fighter.

"Boss is waiting in the East Side warehouse."

Amused at Cutter's obvious change of subject, Razer nodded as he started his engine, revving his turbo to max in preparation of making a hasty and smoky exit.

"Then it would be best not to leave him waiting."

As he drove off to lead the trucks to their destination as their point guard, Razer chewed on an unlit cigarette to think. Edje and Shiv flanked both sides of the truck, the bot, as scheduled, showed up behind them. In this diamond formation, Razer was in charge of leadership and offense, and together the team would cover all sides at a 360-degree angle to assure a safe transport.

Razer spotted their halfway point.

"Half way to the drop off. About fifteen minutes until our destination."

"Roger, Boss." The others responded sequentially, all except Cutter.

Smirking knowingly to himself, Razer used the remaining time to ponder about the words he had exchanged with Anchor.

Ships that did not belong to Mizo only meant one thing – that there was someone_ other_ than Mizo who had enough influence to dock their shipments of illegal merchandise in Kras and yet, still manage to dodge law enforcement.

At that time, while Razer had a hunch due to the other presences at the port, he was not confident in his theory. Whoever it was that _was_ responsible though, his hunch right or wrong, they would be a force to be reckoned with.

_That_, he was confident of…

* * *

Razer removed the blade he'd hidden in his slacks and twirled it in his fingers. He watched as Rayn Krew's throat bobbed with a dry swallow.

He could have killed her from the moment the lights went out. One swipe of his hand, and it would have all been over. With Weasley on his side and the others, he could have either easily persuaded or killed them off, he could have been walking out from Butcheree Cliffs a free man in minutes.

Razer was _not_ trapped here. He was _allowing_ himself to stay here. The reason why no one had tried to break him out or assassinate Krew was because _he_ was in control.

"How in Precursors did you obtain a shiv?"

Finding amusement in her shock, he answered, "The same way you entered the penitentiary with a pistol."

Keeping face, she agreed, "I see."

These past few days had merely been child's play. No. Before then - before he was even hired to come out of retirement to swap paint with the rumored Dark Eco Channeler, Jak.

It was probably about two years ago. After keeping an eye on the unidentified vessels parking on the Loading Docks, it wasn't until the papers announced Krew's death, that Razer had found some significance in the mysterious ships. The last remaining Krew power had faced his demise in an explosion rumored to have been caused by one of his own subordinates. Business in Kras had reached its economic boom afterwards and while Gervassio must have spent months lavishing in drunken celebration due to his most feared rival being gone, Razer was in the shadows planning.

After some research, deduction, and a little painful persuasion with one of the crewmembers from said mystery ships, Razer had come to find out that Krew bore a daughter over a decade ago. The existence of Rayn Krew was kept under wraps, due to her father sending her off to a boarding school in another country. As a result, her seed to power slowly set its roots over seas until Rayn was of age and ready to migrate The Office to Kras.

Knowledge of an Heiress to the Krew family was an unpleasant surprise, especially after confirming years before that, that the last known potential, a nephew of Krew Senior, Johan, was incarcerated. And so, this woman was an unfortunate wrench in their plans.

The fact that Krew had an inheritor aside from his nephew left Mizo's death foreshadowed only on the boldest of tongues. And because it was only a matter of time before rights were fought over within The Office, upon Johan's release, the situation at hand was all the more dire. Razer was sure that this new Heiress would do anything in her power to secure her position before that even happened.

It was only a matter of time before the second-in-command had to take charge. Now that the cards had been dealt, Razer only had to play his hand.

* * *

"What is it that you want, Razer? Surely, there is more than what meets the eye or else we wouldn't be here fooling for dominance," she almost spat.

Never had she felt so frustrated, so defeated. Once Razer had revealed his weapon, she realized that she was being toyed with. If there was one thing she inherited from her father's genes, it was that they were both complete authoritarians. All her life, whatever Rayn wanted, minus the presence of a reliable and loving father figure, Rayn received it. Knowing that her father was one of the most notorious names in organized crime, she had lived her life surrounded by an air of superiority, and had never favored feeling anything less.

Yet, here she was. About to run around like a yakow without a head, no doubt, in order to fulfill requests for a man who threatened to be above her. A man who had the _audacity_ and the_ brass_ to challenge _her_ even after witnessing the finale of the Mizo Era.

Despite her witty and cruel tactics by first throwing the famed racer into one of the most gruesome prisons in the country and then threatening to torture him, signs of fear in this man were nowhere to be found. And while knowing that she'd willingly poisoned an entire team of innocent civilians, her father's enemies, as a means to blackmail them into the deadliest sport in the world, and the act was what eventually forced Mizo into ruin, the racer never showed any signs of intimidation.

And that could only mean one thing.

"Are we ready to strike a deal?"

He _wanted_ something from her - which was fine. _That_, she expected.

It was the hunch that was wringing at her gut like water from a towel that was bothering her. It was trying to convince her of something that she would consider blasphemy against her pride. It was trying to convince her that the man before her had something vital that _she_ would need to succeed. And no, the ownership deeds were not it. In fact, she still didn't know _what_ it was. But whatever it was, all Rayn knew was that Razer knew.

That was what frightened her the most.

The woman's words were sweetened acid, "I'm listening."

Hostility thickened the air. Rayn regarded the blade as Razer calmly rested it against the table, posing no threat.

"You are a very wise woman, Rayn. I can guarantee that you will go beyond your father's glory because of your willingness to work with others."

"Why is it that I don't feel the slightest bit reassured?"

This whole predicament being nothing, but a carnival for the trained killer, the Champion smiled. Once again, his untamed hair, due to weeks without maintenance, added all the more ferocity to his fangs.

"Don't be alarmed. You will reap your benefits, after you have completed my requests."

"All right, all right, let's get on with it then. I have a meeting this evening-"

"It's regrettable that attending that meeting will only make this longer for you."

"Ah, not exactly. You see, the purpose of this meeting is so that I can convince the others that I have kept you alive for a very valid reason, or have you been under the impression that everyone fawns over you?"

"They do, Miss Krew, they _all_ do. They just don't know it yet."

The Krew Heiress did not conceal her lack of humor, and instead crossed her arms and stopped feeding his remarks. She was irritated enough and her chitchat was only starting a migraine.

Sensing that she was ready for negotiations, the prisoner straightened in his chair. Motioning for the cigarette in his ear only to return empty and realize he'd given it away, he cursed silently to himself for the habit.

"All right, Rayn. This first request should be very simple…"

The woman perked her ears as she felt the beginnings of what would be her heart at the pit of her stomach.

_Simple, he says._

Whatever he was going to ask of her, she was sure that whatever it was, it was _anything_ _but_ simple…

* * *

**Seven years ago…**

"Looks like the bread is done," the nurse announced as she watched her patient search frantically for the potholders. The small Kras apartment was warmed with the scent of Zuchini and there was no better way to mark milestones than to bake something good.

Vera had finally gotten full use of her arms. After her casts had been removed, being able to flex around was a fresh difference. Her nurse, Ruby, had taken notice of the added cheer in Vera's hum as she went about the housework. Vera's husband had driven them to the hospital before leaving off to the Circuits and although he was never known for being a talker, she recognized his subtle gestures of affection: The way he silently opened the car door for her and looked after them heading into the building before driving off.

From her time spent here so far, it seemed that the couple didn't converse very much. Despite that conversation was in the doctor's orders, it was obvious how unsure Vera was, and her husband, hesitant and fearful.

To Ruby, who'd been secretly assigned by the Mizo family to protect Vera, should an enemy come after her life, it almost seemed as if the spouses had trapped themselves into their own bubbles. They could see one another clearly, but neither was willing to collide and pop this denial they were sweetening their lives with. But, marriage counseling was not was she was hired for, and so all the nitty gritty details, they'd have to sort out themselves, even if a small part of her hoped that they would patch things up sooner than later.

"All right, let's see if I still have it."

With the redhead's back to Ruby, she missed the proud smile. While her patient might have been fuzzy on things ever since the accident, if there was one thing that she learned that Vera was always confident of, it was her culinary and craft skill.

"Looks perfect!"

Ruby made a mental note to write this progress in her observation journal later. While Vera still had trouble accepting the world around her, she still had plenty faith in the recipes stored somewhere deep into her memory where harm did not reach – the same recipes that were fed to a man who barely spoke a word, but would give his life for her without hesitation and any words needed.

* * *

**Glossary:**

Call in/Drop out of touch: The act of ordering - without explanation - a made man to report to his superiors. Mafiosi might be called in so they can be disciplined (murdered). Once the order is received, the made man must report as ordered. So, mafiosi in trouble with superiors will sometimes drop out of touch to avoid receiving the call.

_Mein schätzchen: _My Dear (German)

Bump Off: Mafia term to kill

_Haus Bergmann: _Brand of cigarettes (German brand, I believe)

_Ruhe in frieden, mein freund: _Rest in peace, my friend

Big Earner: One who generates income for a Mafia family. Higher levels of income are generated by "big-earners."

Kicked off your trolley/gone barking: Gone mad, looney, crazy etc.

To take the piss out of someone: Making fun of someone or making a mockery of him/her

_Cat o' nine tails: _A kind of whip

_Scheiße: _Shit

_Hallo, wie geht es dir?_ Hello, how are you?

Deadlights open: Eyes open

Scuttlebutt: Gossip

Lobsters: Brits, don't ask, go google it

_Die Bullen kommen: _The cops are coming (German)

The Office: British Mafia

James McSweeney: No, you aren't imagining this name. I totally stole it off that hot UFC fighter with his awesome accent…

You know a conjurer gets no credit when once he has explained his trick: A Sherlock Holmes quote

_

* * *

_

**A/N: All right, Happy Holidays and New years to everyone. And surprise to my lovely and awesome beta reader (Luv2Game) for she has no idea that I've finally had enough of this mammoth that I've been keeping from you for over a year and have decided to unleash the beast. And Blackfire18, shout out to you also for the couple of tips you gave me for this chap. Here's to hoping this revives your RazerRayn love.  
**

**I swore to never write a multi-chap fic again, and this was born many, many months ago. An idea that should have been one or two chapters have become six instead. The story is complete. I'm tired of being a perfectionist, and so hell, have at it. This fic was my baby for a long time and not only did I put a lot of research into it, but I've changed up my writing style a tad and tried some new things. Hopefully they pay off. It's not mastery, but I enjoyed the journey and it's time that it ended. I think I've finally come to terms with releasing it or else I will be here for eternity changing words and adding commas.**

**I don't want to look at this thing anymore. If some points are unclear, the subtle hints, the random character in the end with her nurse, it will all be clear soon. I will say though, that over the course of writing this, while my intent was to write for Razer and Rayn, another under-appreciated character crept into my heart and thus, that scene in the end of this chap begins.**

**I'll upload with the next chapter in a week or two because of the holiday. Enjoy.**


	2. 24 Hours

**24 Hours**

It had been a month since her mother died and her father was as eager as ever to tend to business. Her father's hand was large over hers, her tiny phalanges swallowed by the fatty gums of his palm.

"Stop faffing about, Rayn," he grunted and she stumbled.

"Sorry, daddy."

The sweat threatened to slip his hold from her, but somehow he managed to hold tight enough to yank her behind- the girl focusing most of her attention on her feet as she struggled to keep up.

"What did I say about keeping your chin up, ey?"

A few other large men, as well as daddy's personal guard, Mister Sig, surrounded her, keeping her vision on her surroundings limited.

The nanny couldn't pull through today so father was not very pleased. Secretly, Rayn was delighted.

He hadn't smiled since her mother's absence and while Rayn missed her too, she hoped that a little sun would lighten his mood.

It wasn't what she'd expected, though. A ten-minute ride and they had screeched in front of Haven's Palace, an exceedingly large structure that the little Heiress regarded with awe every time she passed. They stepped into a hall adorned with several large portraits where she spotted another girl slightly older than her, standing in front of one frame in particular.

The portrait was the largest and the frame, the most embroidered. The subject was a woman, ringlets of blood and a spark of confidence in her eyes. Whoever the woman was, the young observer was intent on it and stared forward dreamily- with distant affection.

She had thick red hair identical to the woman in the painting. Her eyes were wide and she was biting her lips savagely, almost desperately. She'd come to find that her lips were raw and bruised when they matched gazes, and the small Heiress mouthed a hello.

"How do you do?"

Instead of responding, the older girl returned a questionable glare, perhaps not one of spite, but one of surprise. Rayn would find out later that this girl would grow up to be a pistol gyrating Rambo of sorts, her demands and dislikes announced with bark on level with her bite – an image drastically different from the silent, perhaps traumatized child before her.

Ashelin. Years later, Rayn would clash heads with her, the face of the girl that had left such a powerful impact on her for years to come, and she would spite her for it.

She looked to the doorway suddenly and little Rayn followed her line of vision. Her state worsened upon the arrival of what, she would learn later, was the girl's father.

Baron Praxis came out to greet them. He was one of her father's newest business partners. They shook hands, talked of things she tuned her ears from, and were briskly heading towards an elevator. Eco shipments, something about a Precursor stone, weapons - the usual. Helplessly being dragged with her father, she looked towards the girl that was being left behind. She wasn't sure why, but perhaps she was looking for a foreshadowing or a prediction of what she was in for since the girl had so accurately sensed her father before his arrival.

The Baron's daughter shook her head, with pity or fear - she'd never find the answer.

Finally, the girl mouthed back words that were silent, but louder than anything that would affect her for the rest of her life.

"I'm sorry," Rayn could read on her lips.

Shoulders strained, and regarding the Baron with caution, the redhead retreated in the opposite direction alone.

Wherever Rayn was being dragged along, the Baron's daughter did not want any part of it. She wondered for what reason.

The elevator shook terribly, the decent downward sounding like she was ear-flat against a passing train on the tracks, the sparks snapping and the metal screaming as she felt her ears pop. Rayn huddled closer to her father, who briefly gave her a look of warning since she was putting more weight on him and already, he was walking with a cane due to his extra pounds as of late. The plunging crate was dark and hot, the suited and armored bodies around them only heightening her claustrophobia.

Rayn looked up to Mister Sig, the guard she was most familiar with. She pinched at his pant leg and he regarded her with an assuring wink.

"We're here," someone announced, but she could not see whom. Everyone was so tall and no one ever bothered to look down at her. Most men she could identify by the stubble under their jaws rather than their actual faces.

The elevator stopped with a rough hop and the girl almost fell off her feet. Sig blocked her fall and she was inwardly grateful. Her father had never let go and it would have been a nasty sprain on her shoulder had she been yanked downward.

Clearing her throat and fighting the flush in her cheeks, she haughtily kept at her father's stride once again. She was a big girl. Daddy always told her that he would take her with him as long as she was good.

But then her father let go.

"Stay there, Rayn. Daddy will be right back."

It was only for a moment. It shouldn't have been that long. Everything should have been fine.

But it only took a moment, a second, and a small snippet of time, when Rayn didn't have her father's fingers to cling onto, for the Heiress to understand why the Baron's daughter had apologized to her before she left.

* * *

"Fuckin' blighter- that bloody bampot! I was a fool to take him seriously! A fool!"

Her butler regarded her with reserved amusement, taking care to serve her tea quietly without plucking at her already frayed nerves.

"Is this black tea?"

"Vanilla Chai, Mi'lady. One of your favorites," he answered, his S's always whistling and the wrinkles sprouting from his eyes, prominent.

"Oh. Thank you. Anyroad, do I have any messages for the day? I've been taking care to avoid the phone because of my recent urge to _break_ it."

"Your order of _Haus Bergmann's _have arrived as well as errm-"

The servant took a moment to reveal a slip of paper from his pocket.

"A parcel of confectionery?"

The older gentleman looked to his master for clarity only to find her kneading her fingers into her temples.

"_Milka_. Please, _don't _ask. I'd prefer it that you didn't."

"Yes, Mistress. I will resist any inquiry in spite of the nagging tug that really makes me curious," he joked.

"Isaac," she reprimanded playfully.

Only he could get away with such backtalk. Isaac was the family butler that her mother had personally hired and a few years after her death, once father had stuffed himself into that smelly bar and her, into a boarding school even farther away then the first, the servant was forced into a permanent leave of absence.

It wasn't until Rayn Krew was on her own two feet that she sought the butler who had taught her restaurant etiquette, how to tie her shoelaces and how to braid her hair after her mother's passing. Luckily for her, the man was not hard to find and enthusiastic on returning to the little girl he often caught bang to rights, standing on a chair with her hand inside mother's sweetie jar on top of the refrigerator.

His presence was a comfort. Especially on mornings such as these where she was deprived of sleep, and couldn't shake the reoccurring bits of nightmares from her head. They were nice while she was asleep - dreams where either father was alive, or she was actually a good girl worthy of Jak's heroic heart, predictions of a future, warm and cozy where crime life hadn't tainted it and she could have a family of her own.

Then she'd wake up and realize just how preposterous and sinfully wishful it was. Always managed to throw her into a crummy mood.

"I presume that you are bribing prisoners with sweeties for legal papers. And if so, I am impressed! Criminals are easier to please than I thought."

Muffling a laugh, the Crime Lord confessed, "I know! It sounds ridiculous, doesn't it? I'm buying imported brands of cigarettes and chocolate from across the ocean, first class mail too!"

"So, you _are_ bribing murderers with candy, Mistress?"

"Oh, Isaac, it sounds worse when _you_ say it."

He laid the receipt on her desk, all their jabs in good-natured humor. When he walked over to the small bar she had in the corner of the room, she propped up from kneading her temples.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting the Dry White, of course. Three Choirs Willow Brook," the butler pulled out a transparent olive bottle labeled in elaborate violet embroidery and san-serif type.

The woman beamed, reaching for the receipt to place in her records for when she balanced her checkbook.

"Good. I think I'll need a whole lotta bottle before my trip today."

The woman gestured that he serve himself a glass first and he obeyed. Knowingly, the older man only took out one glass. After pouring the wine into his glass, he handed the entire bottle to his master.

"And to think that it is _only_ six in the morning."

Chugging her first gulp in grace, she hissed, "Well, he takes chocolate and smokes. I'll take the bottle."

"Sterling. Just sterling, Mi'lady."

* * *

By the time she arrived at Butcheree, the acid from the Three Choir's had already stained the inner walls of her stomach. The slight delay in her reaction time aided in postponing this nagging thing that seemed to be troubling this decision of hers for the past few days.

This nagging thing called logic.

She had vigorously searched international catalogs and rare markets within the past week, only to fulfill the bucket list that belonged to one of the slickest criminals in Kras' history. If he had any desire to do so, the man could have written an entire novel - no - an _anthology_ of novels based on his delinquent history alone.

Rayn believed that any request from a stereotypical mammal would be as simple as throwing a steak into the Liger's den.

A vehicle? That was doddle. What year, what make, name the price, name the country- she would get her hands on it in a week.

A woman? Sure, she wasn't fond of plucking from the fowl by the ports, herds of them sheltered beneath bridges and inside dark alleyways. A flock of Flut Fluts were easy to lure when it came to thick, nutritious barm cake in the form of a man like the famed racer.

Money? The Krew Heiress was never keen on sharing, which is why she battled for Mizo's territory in the first place, but seeing as those documents were so vital at the moment, a few thousand orbs wasn't too much of a sacrifice. It wasn't as if she could not make up for the lost profit.

But an import on cigarettes and chocolate?

_Who_ in ruddy hell _asks_ for such a thing? And at first impression, you would think it was as cushy as stopping by a corner deli for a few bucks. But the suggestive show of his teeth when he requested the items was not for naught.

He knew. The git _knew_!

If Razer was not gobshiting her, then this brand of sweets and nicotine better have been straight from the labor of the gods. Razer was _well_ aware of how difficult it was to find an import on these items, even in a city that was so dependent on international trade.

Rayn had sworn that she lost a few locks of hair down the shower drain during her relentless pursuit, and here she was now, returning to this bleeding excuse for a building just to hand 'em over to him, and for what? Because he still had _one_ more request.

_One_ more. And Rayn hadn't the _slightest_ blooming idea of what this request would entail.

"Are you sure this is wise? Lowering yourself to comply to a criminal's wishes?" Ruiz questioned, further irritating the already touchy woman.

"Officer Ruiz. Have you ever been out hunting before?"

The fortress of a man shook his head and continued to lead.

"When I was young, on the rare occasions that my father spent time with me, he was fond of taking me into The Wastelands. Upon receiving new shipments of artillery, like a child with new toys, my father would not hesitate on experiencing them first hand before selling them off.

My presence only served as a poor excuse to 'train me in target practice,' and so he'd stuff me into the back seat of an air carrier next to a small horde of the most blood thirsty henchmen that managed to get extra gold stars for him that month before we dived into the treacherous desert to hunt leapers."

Ruiz gasped, "Aren't the leapers a protected species? I hear that the monks and Spargus citizens have domesticated them."

"Bah. Extinction. Protected. All the more sport for my father."

"I- I see."

"Yes, well, anyway, so he would drag me on these _blasted_ trips of his and we would chase these creatures like a bunch of brainless bags of meat led by something shiny on a stick. By the time a good hour or two passed, my father and his men were worn out. They were doing it all wrong."

Officer Ruiz offered an arm while they descended down into the depths towards the floor where Razer was being held. Rayn gave a grateful nod and accepted.

"At first, my father took me because he had nowhere else to dump me, but by the third trip, my father would choose me over his men. Do you know why?"

"No, Miss Krew. Why?"

"After an hour in The Wastelands, it was my second trip with him and a sandstorm was coming. As usual, with no catch, my father and his men were preparing to retreat with nothing, but frowns on their faces. And to add to their frustration, I had wandered off right as they were ready to leave."

"Most kids wander."

"True, except-" she raised her index finger to make a point as if literally dotting one invisibly in the air.

"The reason _I_ had wandered was _quite_ different from the reasons _most_ children wander. _I _left to perform a hunt of my own. After watching my father and his men madly chase leapers to no avail, my frustration gave way to the determination to succeed with my own methods. As a result, I found the perfect solution to the problem."

The officer went mute, either in fear or anticipation of what he knew was coming.

"Long story short, my father found me easily through the coming storm only because of a single gun shot. And when he followed the sound, there I sat, beside my prize. Do you know _how_ I did it?"

The officer did not reply, and instead, released his helpful arm as soon as they arrived at 3-D. The woman licked at her lips, the alcohol probably having a mild affect on this audacity of hers and leaving a sliver of shine across her red mouth.

"My father ran over a Kangarat on the way from the carrier in the vehicle. I'd taken its remains from the tires, and used the rodent to befriend the leaper, the fresh blood serving as a pheromone to the ravished mammal. I gently beckoned it to me, and as it lowered its guard - that is when I _struck_!"

The man coughed uncomfortably. Her bodyguards gave approving grins as if the tale was a product of pride for them.

"I _tamed_ the beast, Officer Ruiz. I gave the beast what he wanted-

-before I went in for the kill…"

* * *

"Princess," Weasley warned, just _starting_ his shift early in the morning and already on his toes to make reports.

Razer gave a grunt before hearing the footfall fade. The inmate creaked up from the lumpy cot, his shoulders cracking and his neck, stiff. Mumbling a curse, he window wiped the sleep from his eyes with his thumbs. His chest had been a tad achy and if it weren't for the company, the Champion would have preferred to lie contently in the lumpy cot until lunch.

Anticipating his unpleasant guest due to the _lovely _errands he had sent her on, Razer readied the most handsome face he could muster despite eating slop for meals and taking only two-minute showers in ice-cold water twice a week.

When she arrived, there was a rap at the door.

"Rise and shine, ducky. I don't have all day," she sung.

He snickered at the snap in her tone. Casually walking to the open slot, he observed that her eyes were bloodshot like his, except from an entirely different source.

"Why, Krew, have you _personally _stopped by to serve me breakfast? I do hope the eggs are soft-boiled."

The woman hummed, "I see the goal hasn't dampened your sense of humor. Open the door."

At her command, the door hinged open, faithful Officer Ruiz meeting his eyes with obvious indifference. Feeling lucky this particular morning, Razer smirked at the law enforcer as he stepped out. As the man moved to cuff the criminal, Rayn stepped in.

"Leave him be. Here."

Before Ruiz could protest and investigate how Krew had managed to sneak anything in beyond the security measures, the parcels were already in the Convict's hands. To his relief though, the recipient was not ashamed of unwrapping his morning gift. Ruiz arched a brow, sharing a look of bewilderment with Weasley passing in patrol before he moved on.

"Ah, Rayn-"

"_Krew_," she corrected.

_Definitely_. She was _definitely_ not in the mood.

"I apologize. _Krew_, you've earned your stripes."

Jerking the box of smokes against his palm a few times, he motioned to Weasley, who was passing again. With some hesitation towards his superior officer, Ruiz allowed it and Weasley motioned for his lighter.

One inhale was proof that the brand was genuine. The confectionary, he would sample later.

Rayn's clacking toes returned his attention to her. She banded her arms like a shield over her chest.

_Women, what a needy gender they are._

"Shall we return to _The Abbatoire_ to talk business?" The woman cast a disapproving glare into Razer's cell, clearly disgusted. "I'd prefer to speak within a space that isn't a wall short of a toilet."

Shrugging, Razer stepped forward in an overall pleasant mood due to his first two requests being fulfilled.

"Remember. It was _you_ who booked me this luxurious suite."

* * *

"Here you go, Boss."

A large man with a swollen eye and bubbled ears handed his Boss an apple martini. The twenty-seven year old reclined in his beach chair, overseeing the city from the roof of his new loft.

Regarding the tribal that scaled over his biceps and wrapped over his torso like a strap of creatures, he mumbled, "Remind me to get this re-inked sometime today. I'd like to look my very best for the reunion."

Behind him a crowd of guests were watching the fight and from the sounds of it, he was winning. He yelled back.

"Make sure the berks don't break anything expensive, ya hear?"

"Yes, Boss."

Flapping the newspaper over his lap, the Thai kick boxer opened the manila folder that had been handed to him by his subordinate. He asked, "So, how is our associate doing down in Butcheree?"

"The fix is in, Boss. We should have her in our hands by tomorrow."

"Heel kick, you arse, heel!" the boxer cleared his throat before returning his attention to the subject at hand, "Very good. I'm sure she'll be just _flabbergasted_ by my appearance, pleased as punch. I can hardly wait."

"I'm sure she'll be happy to see you too, Boss."

Lifting the sunhat from over his head to slip out a small velvet box, he nodded in agreement, "I sure miss that stubborn pride of hers. All the more fun when it breaks."

* * *

"I'm sorry, come again?"

The racer chuckled, choosing to remain silent. The silence was answer enough and the Krew Heiress, as he predicted, was not fond of the idea at all.

"W-wait, let me get this straight? You want _me_, Rayn Krew, life long enemy to the Mizo Clan, to let _you_, the last of Mizo's most faithful and most dangerous, _out_? Just- just let you waltz on out of here after all the trouble I had sticking you here in the first place?"

"Yes. That's right."

Rayn laughed loudly, slapping her knee and he leaned against the wall adjacent from her.

"And why would I do that?"

Razer's eyes rolled up, the light casting a frightful shadow over his amused expression.

"It would be in your _best_ interest."

"Really? How so?"

He strolled in front of her to snub his smoke, an inch from her thigh on the table and whispered, "Did you think slapping your name on a piece of paper was enough to take over Kras?"

"What are you implying?"

"I think you know _exactly_ what I am implying, Krew."

The woman's eyes watered from the combination of his hot breath and the smell of nicotine. His hand fast on the snub, Rayn took notice of the racer's habit to corner her both physically and mentally as he blocked her escape - a familiar scene from only days ago.

Sure, he was right. Ownership deeds or not, those papers did not include the years of experience that only Mizo's men had out on the circuit and it would take her too much time to instill such skill into new blood before the new season arrived. Whether she liked to admit it or not, she needed at least a handful of Mizo's leftovers. The sport was already at a standstill and without a team of the Kras' veterans that viewers knew and loved, the ratings would drop and the sport would die.

Change was good, but not all at once. And if Rayn wanted to soften the audiences, she needed some of Mizo's drivers.

Not only that, but the clock was ticking. There were only a few months before _he_ was released from the big house overseas and if she wanted to keep her pretty little name on this franchise, she'd better move fast. Unfortunately for her, women were not very widely accepted in this sort of business and were preferred in aprons. As difficult as it was to admit, a good portion of the Krew Office was marking their calendars, for the day her father's nephew was released on parole - her cousin, Johan.

Personally, she didn't know much about him, but she'd done her research. She knew everything, from what kind of bickies he had for afters to his very first petty knock off. Lucky for her, one had landed him in the pen and being the only legitimate person with Krew blood running through her, female or not, she was up for the inheritance after her father had passed.

After her uncle had been rubbed out, her father did everything in his power to secure her position as Heiress in the event of his passing. Despite his plans however, Johan was an unintended detail that father wasn't prepared for and she'd have to deal with herself if she had no choice.

Speaking of choices…

"So, I'm just supposed to release your muzzle knowing that behind it there's a full set of razor sharp teeth ready to attack- no pun intended."

"Are you worried about my bites, Rayn?"

"What's to guarantee that this isn't all a trap? That you won't just escape and never give me the deeds?"

"That's just a risk that you'll have to take. Desire and danger go hand in hand."

She ignored his scare tactics with a sigh. It was obvious that the racer knew more than he was letting on, and Rayn had a gut feeling that if she refused this offer, she'd come to regret it later. Rayn knew a decent compromise when she saw one, and she also knew when to trust her instincts. Perhaps he knew that her rush to get these deeds weren't simply out of greed, but a literal race against the clock. She had to get the franchise in order before the next season, before she lost her chance to someone else…

The Crime Lord could hardly believe the words that were about to come out of her mouth but nonetheless; she was firm in her decision. "So, I just have to release you, correct? For twenty-four hours?"

"Yes, under your surveillance, of course. I'd like to see how-" the man tasted for the right word, "-_capable_ you are before handing over the deeds. And after taking care of a few loose strings of my own, I will happily return to this hellhole to pay for my sins in earnest. Locked away and harmless."

"Unarmed, but never harmless."

"Hmm?"

"That's what you said the last time we were in this room. Unarmed, but never harmless and then you went on to reveal a shiv only minutes later."

He scoffed as he opened the space between them, "Oh? You remember that?"

"Yes, Razer, I do."

Rayn thought for a moment. She _knew_ better. No matter what he promised, vowed, swore, _whatever_ – the man would _always_ be a threat to her. Even _she_ knew that he would not stay locked away forever. As of this moment though, options were limited.

"Oh, all right. Twenty-four hours, Razer, and if you try anything dodgy, I will make use of that pistol on my garter."

The racer rewarded her with a cigarette from his new box and tucked it behind her ear.

Upon hearing the sound of freedom from the _Abattoir _door unhinging, he teased, "That's _if _it's still there by the time you go looking for it."

Rayn would have made a cheeky comeback if it weren't for the lights flickering again, causing her to make haste. No matter how offended she was, she did _not_ want to be in this place again if the lights failed.

The sooner to sunlight, the better.

* * *

Cutter changed the tires on his vehicle, and the other men shuffled around the garage equally as oily, busy, or drinking on the benches. Despite the absence of their late Boss and now Razer, their second in command, the team was operating fairly smoothly. Their lieutenant's arrest to Butcheree made headlines, and they were currently using the front page for target practice, all knives and daggers straight into the small photo of Rayn Krew.

It had been about three weeks since their Under-Boss, now new leader, had been away in the stir and Cutter knew Butcheree was the worst of the worst. Even so, he wasn't too concerned. This was something that Razer had predicted, and had briefed them on numerous strategies to bail him out in worse case scenarios.

Worse case scenario, they'd just all blow a hole into the ground and get in there, guns blazing, ready for their Boss to hop into one of their combat vehicles to help man the machine gun. It was as simple as that really. But it wasn't really Razer's style. Razer didn't like too much of a mess. And if he wanted a mess, it'd had better be the grandest show that a live audience had ever witnessed.

After the final turn of his lug wrench on his third wheel, Cutter decided he'd take a lunch break before tackling his fourth. He'd been eyeing Vera's lunch since that morning and looking forward to the double cheese hip-hog burger she'd made especially for him. The driver grabbed for his lunch and headed for the bench where Shiv rested his eyes and Edje was focused on a centerfold in his magazine.

Upon seeing Cutter lift his mask partially to take full bites, Edje teased, "Hip-Hog today, ey? Your old lady sure knows the way to a man's heart-"

Edje grunted when Shiv's punch to the arm caught him off guard. "Stop talking out of your ass," he warned with one eye before he returned to resting.

"Aww, come on, I was just joking, right, Cutt? You know what I get to eat for lunch? That grease and bread they sell up in the stands for too much money."

"That's because you waste all your checks on the Hook."

"Man's gotta drink, Shiv. Only two things in life: beer and cars. Take 'em both and I might as well slit my own throat."

Cutter almost coughed up his sandwich and before Edje could give him a hearty pat on the back, he'd almost choked himself.

"Speaking of slitting throats…"

It was as if the entire garage had a freeze rally and everyone stopped in their tracks; many with bulging eyes and gaping mouths, others just too shocked to express anything. Razer waltzed toward the garage, hands in his pockets and to their surprise- he appeared to be tickled pink. Behind him was the very woman that had daggers in her face on almost every wall around them-

Rayn Krew.

* * *

Judging by the silence that had befallen the garage, Razer surmised that none were too pleased upon seeing their beloved Boss arrive with their interminable enemy. Still feeling rather optimistic after having Krew treat him to a proper breakfast and being able to smell motor oil again, Razer waved his team to stand down. If only he were just a few more notches flamboyant, the racer would have been beaming. He stepped into the garage, finding a spot on Cutter's vehicle to lean on to light a smoke.

"Ladies, ladies, please, don't trample over one another in your hurry to greet me," Razer teased his men as he indulged in Krew's morning "gift".

He could tell that his men were shaking, not from nerves, but from murderous intent. Edje would just end up charging like the speedy hothead he was, and the Boss wasn't always in the mood for that sort of thing, which in one way or another, ended with a knee or knuckle to Edje's ribs. Cutter would just calmly step into a vehicle and run her over, and so, it was left to the third of the trio, the Spargus original, to ask the famous question, without killing her right off the bat.

Shiv started, "Hey Boss, glad to have you back on board."

"Of course."

"But- what's with your company?"

"Oh, do you mean Miss Krew here?"

When all he received was silence, Razer knew better than to tease starving dogs with red meat, and so it was time to get down to business. Eyeing the woman who stood on her guard at the entrance of the garage, fingers itching to reach for her garter pistol, the racer invited her closer.

"Well, Edje, I'm glad you asked, hmm hmm. Because I have a _very_ entertaining story to share and a proposition."

After the Hall of Famer made his prison story short and sweet, he ended it before the boys could fling at her with sharp objects. "And so I've invited Ms. Krew here to come and endure a few tests, if that's what you'd like to call them, to see how capable she is of running this company."

"Boss, can I have a minute?" Edje took Razer under his arm, gathering in the corner where he whispered, "If she _is_ capable, are you just going to hand it over to her? Just like that?"

"I'd say we ice her and take a nice midnight drive by the Dirt Stadium," added Shiv, an unexpected comment from the usually passive and patient killer.

"Down boys. Come on, this might turn out quite amusing, don't you think?" Razer offered, but none of them replied. "Why don't we sit back and watch, shall we?"

The Champion returned to Krew's side who was probably strategizing who'd she'd aim for first if she had to make a run for it.

"Listen, I know this may be a bit- inconvenient, but I'm feeling generous today. After all, this is the first time I've felt the wind on my face in days. I'd be grateful if you'd all just humor me, even if just a few hours."

The group broke into mumbling before they eventually returned to their prior duties. The few that welcomed him unconditionally, Razer gave an appreciative nod, and to those who dared to backtalk Razer's mysterious whims, he quickly silenced with a cold stare that sent them hastily back to work. Although he'd predicted this reaction, he had to keep his ulterior motives to himself. If they'd known the truth, it would just spill more blood and right now, they didn't have enough to spare.

He had to do this. _Very_. Precisely.

Krew didn't look very happy either. As he turned to her, he smiled.

"Krew. I think I've thought of the first thing I'd like you to lend me a hand with?"

* * *

The descent down into the basement minutes away from the garage was eerily silent. The walls were stucco-ed, cardinal and flushed, continuing the Shop décor from upstairs. Had she been blindfolded, never would she have suspected this busy, family owned, Butcher Shop in the middle of Kras' more historical districts as nothing more than what it was. Upon Shiv's entrance though, the owners only exchanged subtle acknowledgement as she was led behind the counter and into a narrow hallway, an undeniable sign that this was a regular occurrence.

Rayn could hear her every step echo in precise timing with each thump of her heart. With every thump, she cursed herself.

In front of her, Shiv wordlessly led. And she kept track of his steps too, for any hint of hesitation. One pause would be all it would take for her to pop him at point blank range.

"_I have already briefed my men on my plans and have thoroughly reminded them not to dispose of you, or they will have to deal with me."_

"_Why, Razer, I had no idea you were so territorial," she jested._

"_Yes, very. With my vehicles, my smokes, and my kills."_

She sighed. Why hadn't he just stabbed her in the back yet? Oh right. Either he really _did_ see some benefit in keeping her around for the time being, or this was his way of repaying her for sending him off on such a lovely vacation and the worse part just hadn't arrived yet. Truly, if she hadn't needed those deeds so desperately, Rayn wouldn't have bothered wasting her time.

Especially with _this_!

"_I'm going to send you off on small errands with each of my most trusted henchmen to see how you cope with specific tasks. You will return with them after each task where they will report to me the results. That is all."_

"_You can't be serious."_

"_What's wrong, Rayn? Do you need me to hold your hand?"_

"_Oh, stuff it. And it's still Ms. Krew to you!"_

And while the retiree assured her that his men would not kill her unless they wanted to die, he failed to mention if he'd also listed rape, non-essential limb cutting, and surface bruising on the "don't do" list. He _did_, however, grant her full permission to do them up if they went against orders, because a subordinate who can't follow directions is as good as a blind guard dog.

So, Shiv was up. Alone, she'd ridden beside him in the vehicle and, alone, she was being ushered further away from the aroma of _Finocchiona_ and _Napoletano_. When they hit the basement and Shiv shouldered the heavy steel door, which he hadn't bother to linger and hold open for her, Rayn decided that she hated this already.

The stench of blood and rotting flesh was immediate. They traversed a winding hallway into what looked like a makeshift medical room. Cots were sporadically placed, hooked to IV drips and full of men wailing blasphemy against the Precursors.

"What in _blooming_ hell happened here?"

"Beef with some newcomer group in Kras. Ever since the Boss passed, small time gangs are racing to the throne from outside cities."

"So this is the aftermath…"

Her voice trailed. Not that she hadn't realized, but she was so focused on her own war with Mizo, that she had paid little heed to the small fry bickering for their golden opportunities. From her observation, lacerations and gunshot wounds were on the far left of the room. Just as she questioned their purpose here, Shiv made way to a shed of surgical instruments.

"You- you're not going to-"

"I am," he said calmly, his intent to kill her dispersing as he tended a wounded boy barely her age, his body contorted in pain and hair as red as his face. If he'd recognized her as an enemy or not, in his agonizing state, he probably didn't care.

Shoving a bottle of whiskey into the boy's hands, Shiv ordered, "Drink. You've got three minutes to get shit-faced before I take this bullet out, whether you're ready or not."

She hadn't realized she was just standing idly and stupidly until he summoned her gruffly. "You. Hold him down. I'm doing his arm and the leg will be yours when I'm done. I'll supervise if necessary."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," was all he said. Apparently he was not the type to repeat something twice - a trait that reminded her of his second in command.

It wasn't like she'd never been exposed to graphic injuries before. When she was a kid, her father had tried to keep her from it as best as he could, but every now and then she'd catch an emergency first aid happening in the kitchen when he hoped she was fast asleep on the other end of the mansion. When she was older and over seas, she'd been a front seat spectator for broken bones and ripping tendons, street fighting being a popular sport in her area. So despite the many things that freaked her out, such as the sounds of howling prison halls or the squeaking of waxed Amazonian, blood was no cringer.

Even so, she'd never had to physically remove a bullet from a body before. The most she'd done was wrap lacerations and ice bruising. And as she watched Shiv snatch the whiskey from the boy's shaky hands before pouring it over his wound, and how the boy's teeth-grinding scream did not make Shiv even wince, Rayn was beginning to understand how he'd earned his name.

Shiv disinfected his hands and the scalpel, looking to her with expectation. Without question, she flung her heels off and threw her weight over their patient's torso.

"Go. I have him, although I don't know for how long."

* * *

Rayn returned to the garage with blood under her fingernails, a tear right down her stockings and her heels hoisted over her shoulders. Razer regarded her with what might have been approval as he walked towards them.

"Report," he commanded.

Whatever the results were, botched or not, Shiv reported them too low for her to hear. The racer's expression did not yield anything and right away, he gestured for Edje's turn.

"I have to say I'm a tad disappointed. I was dragged to the doctor's and didn't even get a sucker as reward."

"Ms. Krew. Your racing gear is in the locker rooms, so you're free to change. And I'd keep a wary eye. If you think the men here aren't fond of you, the women can hardly wait to catch you when you're in your most _vulnerable_-," he almost snickered his last word before retreating. The woman knew by vulnerable, he meant naked.

_Bloody arse._

"Not if I can help it," Rayn snapped, before making haste to shower and change. Inwardly, she hoped some slapper would try her out. It would be a waste to remove her garter without putting the heat she packed to good use.

* * *

Razer watched the clock as he sampled on his confectionary. Krew had been off with Edje for about an hour and they would be returning in minutes if all went well.

As if knowing he was undisturbed, his cell phone rang.

"Yes. Tomorrow. That's right."

Cutter stepped into his office. Razer raised a hand to hush him.

"That _is_ what we agreed on, correct?"

After a few more ambiguous nods and hums, Razer hung up and looked to Cutter, who was patiently waiting in front of his desk.

"I'd like to thank you all for keeping this little office spic and span while I was off. I was almost afraid to find it'd been converted to an extension of the garage when I returned."

"No problem, Boss. We knew you'd be back."

"Krew should be here soon. Before she arrives, I just wanted to make sure you're on par with our- _plans_ for tomorrow."

"Yes, Sir. All the way."

"Very good. I'll need you to be on your toes. Ms. Krew is a feisty one, especially when angry, so expect her to pull out all the stops."

"Yes, Boss."

Razer stood up and straightened his collar. It was good to feel hot water on his back and change into fresh attire. He had missed his trench coat. When he heard the commotion out in the garage, he shooed Cutter away.

"Seems our esteemed guest has returned. Mar knows how much she'll want to murder me after tomorrow, so let's make sure she feels welcome for now."

On his way out, Razer caught a row of pictures on the wall of his late boss disguised as his alias, G.T. Blitz. As if to mock him, the retiree recalled what that rip felt like in his chest, when he'd come in second during the Blue Eco Cup, to this grease monkey that had been hired, and later he would find out, blackmailed into racing for Krew's team.

Jak. The growing rift between himself and his long-time mentor and Boss, Mizo, would finally break beyond repair due to this boy. Razer was known for bumping heads with the Boss at times, but because of his irreplaceable talent both on and off the tracks, the two men had learned to deal with one another, treating each other as friends who sometimes irritated like rashes under your feet. It wasn't until the racer was forced to come out of retirement only to fail for the first time, many times, for Mizo to begin questioning his use.

It was that last race that Razer decided it best to stay low, drop out of touch. The end that the lieutenant had always foreseen for his Boss had finally arrived and it had become clear after that last race against Jak, that if he didn't stay off the radar for a short while, he'd be included in this end. Meanwhile, Razer had other plans to tend to, and none of them involved his death just yet.

Casually, Razer tipped the pictures off the walls to place on the desk face down. It was strange how the tables had turned - almost frightening. Mizo was gone and although he intended to execute him for his failures against Krew's golden boy, rash or not, Razer had not lost respect for his Boss. In fact, if Mizo did not plan to get rid of him, the retiree would have had no remaining loyalty to a Crime Lord who'd gone soft.

Either way, Razer would have ended up here, in this office, in this chair, except the path Mizo had taken had allowed Razer to keep his hands clean.

A new era was beginning and after tying a few loose ends, there'd be no further need to dwell on the past.

* * *

"You know, Razer, I don't think I'm becoming very fond of you as the hours go by."

The man chuckled. "I'm hurt, Ms. Krew. Aren't you having fun?"

"Hardly."

The woman stretched and invited herself to sit on someone's vehicle. If it belonged to anyone, she showed no care for it. At this point, this agreement was getting old and Rayn was ready to just throw in the towel and do it the hard way. Fill the garage full of lead, burn every Mizo hideout to the ground and hopefully pry the deeds from the dead.

Sensing the Crime Lord's impatience, the racer decided it was about time he'd give her a break. After all, he _was_ still on _her _mercy. Any small breech on their oral contract, and it would only take one phone call or snap of the fingers and she'd have him thrown back into Butcheree faster than he could blink.

Razer was no idiot. Although she had allowed him to be free for twenty fours hours and to participate in this wild game of his, the former Champion knew she would not get this close without at least having a couple of snipers ready to shoot on sight if all went wrong. The Champion knew he was being watched with every second and Rayn Krew knew better than to step on enemy territory without some form of protection, even if she agreed to leave behind her heavies.

So, before her intolerance took its toll, perhaps it was time for a little one-on-one.

"All right, Ms. Krew, I think it's time we gets our hands dirty."

Her glare questioned, and he motioned towards a vehicle that had floor jacks holding it up. He watched as she rolled up her sleeves expectedly and screened over the piece of work.

"Transmission change?"

"I'm impressed you can tell that much just by eye."

"Of course. I might be wearing heels now, but I had my share of oily cheeks back in high school. Can't depend on a mechanic for _everything_, and if I wanted to drive in high style, I had _better_ learn to repair everything myself. Especially with _my_ reputation, having my ride in tiptop shape was a _must_, unless I wanted to take a drive-by with a smile and nothing else."

"Can you tell what kind of transmission this is?"

"Manual. Does your entire team operate on them?"

"Yes."

"Very good. One less thing I have to worry about later. I was afraid some of you were still sucking on pacifiers."

At this, Razer laughed loudly. He turned his back to her as he shrugged off his coat and slipped off his dress shirt. A singlet would have to do for now. He was tempted to respond smartly to her pacifier comment, but chose not to.

For now, it'd be best to keep her mood cheerful. She would not like what was to come afterwards.

* * *

When Mizo's primary enforcer removed everything covering his torso until left with only a tight skinned singlet, it was difficult to mask her attraction. Thankfully, he was facing the other way.

Once again she was confronted with the scars she'd been forced to see in _The Abbatoir, _but it did not take away from his overall visual appeal. His sleeveless shirt strained over the canvas of distinctly toned and tattooed muscle, his sharp shoulder blades pronounced with every turn of the arm and every vein throbbing at the flick of a wrist. A fresh scent of wood and pine wafted and she surmised that he must have cleaned up while she was off on those silly tasks he was having her do.

The aroma only grew stronger when she kicked off her racing shoes and slid under the car beside him. He'd already removed the electrical connectors and marked the drive shaft for later.

"Aww, started all the fun without me," she jested.

"I apologize. I will be sure to make up for it later."

She'd caught the pun late when she reached for a rag and bit down on any temptation that would make him clarify _exactly_ what that meant.

_Clever clog…_

Her teeth tamed her grin as she motioned to cover the extension housing to keep the fluid from spilling as he removed the U joint. It was difficult to tell if he meant anything serious at times, and perhaps, this may have been his way of finding out if she was a scrubber, a tart, a floozy. And in spite of her sexual attraction to the _Capo_, whether she made it clear as day or not, Rayn Krew was neither of those types.

Still, just like many other women, Rayn was a fan of the _Great_ Razer, racing veteran, and unlike the more common fan girls who were unaware of the double life that their prized retiree had led; she respected his work both on the Circuits and in the Underground. Truth be told, she had juggled through the options of converting him as one of her own, except because of the dynamic between them, the process would be delicate and tricky.

And as far as shagging the lieutenant, if anyone were going to drive this road, _she'd_ be the one taking the wheel. The daughter of Krew would not have it any other way.

"So, tell me, Razer? At what point in this twenty-four hour, now fifteen-hour day, are you going to hand me the deeds I desire so very much?"

"When I have completely assessed your performance, Rayn, or do you expect me to give you a passing grade when you haven't taken the full exam?"

"Poppycock. And I suppose jabbing a scalpel into a few men and keeping that hothead Edje from starting a brand new war with your allied Accardo syndicate, wasn't enough?"

"To tell you the truth, I'm very impressed you managed to return alive. You see, for small errand jobs like the one I had you accompany Edje on, Mizo usually preferred I tag along. While neither on my team have very good people skills, Edje is known to have the least."

"You're telling me! I swear, if I didn't have that gun on my thigh stuck into his temple at the right moment, he would have attacked just on the basis of someone giving him the wrong look!"

"Yes. Edje is renowned for always being- on edge. How _did_ you keep him from turning on you afterwards? I'd definitely like to know."

Rayn huffed, "Nothing a bit of bribery couldn't fix."

"These men are Mizo loyalists and were bred to never be bought by the enemy, so what could _you_ have possibly offered that he would have accepted without fear of any consequences?"

"I told him he could have the Luxord I arrived here in. Seemed he took a fancy to it."

"Oh? Is that all?"

"And don't worry, I guaranteed that you'd allow it. I mean, how unsafe can it be? We both came here in that car."

The woman grunted as she placed a jack beneath the engine for support.

"And Shiv seemed impressed with your handy work. It seems your eye isn't only good for identifying automobile troubles."

"If you're trying to sway me from the subject at hand, I _love_ to be flattered, but I still have not forgotten my goal. Oh, are you ready to swap the old transmission for the new?"

"Yes, I'm pushing the new one in, raise the jack as I go."

There was a moment while she watched him put the new transmission in place. Intently, she kept her eyes on the engine's rear support where he tightened each bolt, admiring the way his biceps pulsed each time.

"_Rayn!" _she scolded herself_, "What are you thinking?''_

If clearing her throat was an obvious sign that she was fighting any inner demons, Razer acted unaware. Finally, he answered her.

"I think we've made some progress, Rayn. Some time ago, I recall you mentioning that my cooing had no effect on you."

Thankful that their close proximity to this vehicle was enough to darken the red in her cheeks, she reprimanded, "The deeds, Razer. I _will_ have them."

With a nod, he suddenly turned over, filling the small space between herself and the car with his body. The woman sucked in a breath, his face directly over hers, before he smiled starkly, "You should be careful with that tone of yours."

Straddling his leg with her own, she felt her chest rise up against his when she snapped. "I think I can handle this business without your philosophy just fine, thank you."

"Oh? Are we still discussing business?"

"Ah," she thought, "Another one of his trials. Well, Razer, I shall have you know, it'll take a lot more than buttered up cajolery to get off with me."

She could almost taste his every word in her mouth, but she did not turn away. Instead, she found his eyes and challenged them.

Rayn wanted to put aside these frivolous mind games. This was serious. And it wasn't just about the satisfaction of taking the company away from the Krew Office's longtime rival, Mizo, who loved it more than his own father whom he killed for it, but it was also because her father loved this business. And she loved it too. Rayn would do all in her power to keep it running as good as it already was, if not, even better.

The Crime Lord _refused_ to leave it up for grabs, not for the small fry from outside Kras, not for Johan. Kras' Combat Racing Franchise was hers.

Breathing in deeply and emphasizing her chest against his, as if pushing him away with her will rather than her hands, she dared to pursue.

The woman whispered, "Pray tell, what are we talking about here, then?"

The retiree hovered over her for a moment, searched her expression and nodded. Before she knew it, he slid out from over her and was gone. The filling he'd provided between her and the car left her body wanting. The woman blinked and when she slid out, a hand was offered to her. She accepted and Razer pulled her up.

His entire hand swallowed her own, hot from the repair work.

"Next task will be here. Last one. I'll observe. Cutter's up."

The woman groaned.

"Believe me, if you did well to handle Edje and Shiv, Cutter will be fine. Just do not attempt to remove his mask."

"Mind if I ask what the importance of the mask is?"

The racer chewed on his reply before deciding. The garage was empty. His men knew better than to ogle or interrupt. With the coast clear, he agreed.

"If your informants are as good as you pay them to be, I assume that you already know."

Rayn understood that this was a give-give situation. The racer would refuse to give her any information unless she confessed what she already knew. He would most likely neither confirm nor deny any of what she shared, but she would also make no guarantee that all _she_ was sharing was the truth.

"Well, Razer, out of the entire team, Cutter is the most enigmatic. Records of his origins have either been hidden very well and I've yet to find them, or they have been destroyed. All that I've been able to find is what is based on rumor, and I don't like to base on rumor alone.

However, the only rumor I _have_ been able to put some backing to, is the one where fans believe, he may be an escapee from Butcheree's extended branch and asylum on the other end of Kras. I have confirmed reports of him exiting the hospital weekly where he then stops by a pharmacy before my spies lose track of him. I could only assume that if he does have a screw loose, he must be taking something for it."

Razer tapped his chin in deep thought. "I will tell you what, Rayn. If you answer one question for me, I will reveal the mystery behind Cutter."

"I think we've had enough compromises today, don't you agree?"

He shrugged, "That's fine with me then."

Before he pushed away from the car he was leaning against, Rayn stopped him. "Wait."

"Hmm?"

"Oh, crud. All right, what is it?"

_If I have to endure this task-involving Cutter, best to go in informed rather than blind._

"The first time we were in _The Abbatoir_, if not me, then what was it that instilled such fear into you?"

She regarded him with wide eyes. The last question she expected was one that forced her to talk about the one thing she refused to say out loud, even when she was by herself. Crossing her arms, she pinpointed her a downward gaze at the tool shed on the other end of the garage, while she weighed her options.

There would be no benefit in telling him aside from the information on his fellow team member, the only one whose records were hardest to retrieve. Past the confectionary and the breakfast, past the tackling of transmissions side by side, Razer was her adversary, who, without a doubt, still wanted her dead. Revealing something so personal would only cripple her sometime in the future - _that_ she was sure of.

Even so, maybe it wouldn't hurt to keep it vague, and possibly whatever he'd give her in return, would at least be a good enough starting point for her to unravel the mystery herself.

"All right, then. To sum it up, it's childhood trauma." She hesitated.

"Childhood trauma?"

"Yes, with Haven's prison. End of story."

* * *

Razer knew better. That was _not_ the end of the story. In fact, there was _a lot_ more, and he knew it by the way the rhythm of her heels skipped whenever she walked ahead of him in Butcheree, at every light flicker, at every threat of darkness. Razer knew she was not going to give more, and for her own safety, it was probably wise that she kept this fear of hers ambiguous.

It was already beginning to get quite late, and so Razer summed down his story as well - to one word.

"Capgras."

"Capgras?" she whipped up.

"It's a delusional misidentification disorder, where the brain fails to recognize faces. Basically the tie between the face and the emotions relating to it gets cut."

"Yes. I know what Capgras Delusion is. Is that what he suffers from?"

"No."

"Then who-"

"You _must_ understand, Rayn, that sharing something _so_ personal with the enemy would not only compromise my position as _Capo,_ but put the rest of the Mizo family, which I am now responsible for, in danger. It would be unwise to pursue this subject any further."

The slit in her eyes only appeared to charm him.

While he knew that she must have felt slightly cheated with this conversation, he could hardly help himself. The woman's face was an endearing sight whenever she was embarrassed. The puff in her cheeks only made him want to do it more. Still, it was difficult to gain full pleasure from it, since he had to keep reminding himself that this woman was number one on his hit list.

"All right, Rayn. Teatime chitchat is over. I'd like to have a filling dinner and a full night's sleep before I'm stuffed into the ground again."

When she whipped away, Razer caught sight of her pouted lip. The look on her face, forced him to keep a vigorous hold on the lint in his pockets, an unnecessary itch that was gnawing at him. It was good that he had slid out from under the vehicle when he did minutes ago, or else he might have taken her pursuit.

The appeal of groping for a handful of her fleshy thigh before he gave her the answer she so boldly asked for was an unbarred one now that both were the leaders of their own broken families in their struggle for dominance. It was a very healthy thigh last he checked when he had disarmed the weapon from her garter during their first confrontation in _The Abbatoire. _

"Priorities," he inwardly reminded.

He was beginning to blame this odd attraction on his time away in the clink. The racer was not one for acting on rash instincts, especially when it came to women, and his first priority was ensuring the success of his personal mission.

And so, without regret, he called for Cutter.

"I'd advise you to be on guard, Ms. Krew." He cautioned her.

Confused, she asked, "Why? What can you _possibly_ expect me to do now?"

He chose to remain silent, and he still had no remorse when he heard her yell. There were sounds of struggle and blows being exchanged. He knew that Cutter had begun by catching her from behind.

Stalling to turn and face the results, Razer whispered, "Let's see how much fight you have in you now, Princess."

* * *

**Four years ago…**

Ruby had gone for the night and Vera spent the remainder of her evening bitterly shoving leftover Zuchini bread into the back of the refrigerator. Her so-called _husband _had not eaten.

The apartment was reticent save for the television left to fizzle in the living room. Today was one of her worse. Earlier, her nurse had to help her frantically remember the ingredients she'd forgotten in a recipe she was sure she'd done many times before. It drove her mad. The hint teetered at the edge of her teeth, but no matter how much she focused, or how hard she slammed the cabinets, she could not recall.

A breeze chilled her back and the woman cradled herself. As she flicked off the lights, she approached the doorway leading into the living room, staring at the masked stranger asleep on her couch. The bars filtering his breath imprisoned all of his secrets. In the dark, the mask transformed him.

How many times had she tried to both gently and forcefully get him to remove his mask, she had already lost count. Days she was sure that he was just the man she expected him to be, and others, he felt as artificial as the moon rising in the day time. Nothing both frightened and tempted her as much as his mask did. The mystery of knowing what was beneath and whether it would confirm or haunt her forever ate at her almost daily.

"Donny-"

Her whisper didn't have enough strength to continue.

And before she knew it, a knife had somehow found itself in her hands, her feet not willing her to take action. Wrestling with her thoughts for what felt like an eternity within seconds, when she finally did press forward, she walked past him with ease, and instead, stopped in her bedroom, next to the pieces of what would have been a handcrafted vase that seemed to be the only thing real at times.

On her nightstand and dresser were rows of picture frames, snippets of recipes and heaps of other paraphernalia - faces of strangers and memories from what felt like a past life.

In a daze, she tested the knife above her wrist, challenging her will. It wasn't until she audibly hissed that she realized minutes had wasted sawing into her skin, heat now coating her forearm. A sob broke from deep within her and when a shout startled her from behind, she jumped.

"Vera, no!"

He tackled her to the bed, tearing the knife from her grasp and stifling any protest with his chest to her face. The woman punched, kicked, screamed and cried. Their shuffle only lasted seconds before all her energy had run dry, and she pleaded desperately, "I want my husband back."

The man held onto her wordlessly, waiting for her body to wilt into him in submission before he replied.

"So do I."

* * *

**Glossary:**

The Goal/The Pen/The Stir/The Clink: Prison

Ducky: A British pet name between couples apparently

Lotta bottle: Something you have after twenty pints of lager and the curry. A lotta bottle! This means courage. If you have a lotta bottle you have no fear.

Associate: Though the usual sense of this word conveys a sense of belonging, in Mafia-speak an associate is one who works in affiliation with a Mafia organization but is not an official member.

Fix is in: A situation in which law enforcement has been paid to allow criminal activity. A gangster might refer to such a situation by saying, "The fix was in."

Knock off: Kill

Sucker: Lollipop

Sweeties: Candy

Scrubber/Tart/Floozy/Slapper: A slapper is a female who is a bit loose. A bit like a slag or a tart. Probably also translates into tramp in American.

Capo: Originally referred to a Mafia boss, but in more recent usage refers to a minor leader within a Mafia family, chief of a crew. Also referred to as a captain, skipper or lieutenant.

Do them up/Do him up: Mafia's 19th Century slang for murder. "Go find Benny and do him up."

_Finocchiona_, _Napoletano:_ Types of Italian sausages

Berk: Fool

Git: Jerk

Pleased as punch: Very pleased

Clever clog: Smart aleck/smart ass

Gobshiting: BSing or shitting her

Anyroad: Anyway

Bickies: Cookie/biscuit

Afters: Dessert. What's for afters?

* * *

**A/N: Ah, chapter two! I don't know if I missed any vocabulary in this one or even the last one, but if there's a word you're not sure about and I haven't listed it, feel free to ask.**

**So, little Ashelin, future Rambo. I totally added that last minute. Felt it necessary to add some flesh to the future Governess. Her bad-assery deserves it despite some of my qualms with her in Jak 3 (cough). Anyway, so cliffie, and another flashback scene in the end. I'm sure it's obvious by now, but can anyone guess who my victim, err, I mean who the character that is co-starring in this fic is? Dun dun dun.**

**Anyway, hope everyone's New Years was great. Will post again soon.**


	3. Rapine

**EDIT: I've been thinking about CaptainHilt's advice on my Cutter flashbacks/POVs and so I've moved a flashback that interrupted the cliffie in the end up. I don't know if it seems awkward. Guess when I re-read the chapter, I'll find out.**

**The rating has changed from T to M due to the sexually suggestive nature of this chapter. It's suggestive, not really explicit. For that, I've provided a link elsewhere when the chapter gets to that part, bwahaha- ahem, enjoy.**

* * *

**Rapine**

"He's running on a gas-less tank. You've got him!"

Rayn screeched so loud that her lungs rattled. And even though she was screaming until her words ran out of exhale to finish, she hoped that the Thai fighter would hear her.

With every catapult, her pleated skirt parachuted, revealing a sliver of thigh that the audience around her, too focused on the brawl, missed.

Her father, however, was one that missed nothing. And with a frustrated tug, he would pull his daughter downward. His frustration failed to extinguish her excitement though, and despite how much fun she was having, she knew that the source of his discomfort wasn't only in his failed attempts to preserve his precious daughter's purity, or at least a Crime Lord's version of it, but from the environment itself.

Unlike the racing circuits, there were no stands or bleachers in street fights. Here, the audience stood on their feet, like a mobile cage that followed the action through and only left enough space for the opponents inside. She could feel every shoulder ram into her own. She could feel the uneven crackling of broken glass with every side step, and with every whiff of air, a thick, putrid odor redolent of cheap rum. Her only breeze relieved the pumping fist she thrust above the spectators.

"Rayn, dear, do tell James to hurry it up. I don't think I can stand this recalescent, sweaty friction any longer."

"It's all right, daddy. It's the second round and he's got it."

The opponent they were betting against was a golden boy from the Fratto family. The event had been one that James had been preparing for, for months on end. The high-schooler had passed to observe during the weeks before as the martial artist conditioned himself until he was literally a body of liquid sprawled out on the mats.

"_My_, does this look like fun," she'd quip, "_Definitely_ more enjoyable than sitting in a nice, comfortable car with the wind in your face."

As she poured a bottle of ice-cold water over his forehead, he'd laugh, "Why should the bloody car have all the fun?"

As always, a firm believer that racers were nothing, but really fast cowards. On their feet, most were clumsy and their confidence, limited to the roads. It wasn't that the fighter necessarily had a hatred for racers, he just had no care for them - at least not in the same sense that his fiancée did.

"Oh, but James, you _have_ to try it at _least_ once. Your body can only move so fast. Trust me, there's nothing more satisfying than the smell of burning rubber after a successful power slide when you've just led your enemy straight off a cliff, _straight_ into plume of smoking oblivion."

When all he returned was silence, the Heiress questioned, "W-what?"

"Straight into a plume of smoking oblivion, ey? That's some villainy spouting from those pretty lips of yours, Raynie."

"Then I'd advise you to silence them with your own nefarious and bodily ways, McSweeney."

Her father was eyeing a catalog of the latest modified Zoomers out on the black market. Slapping the pages, Rayn scolded, "Daddy, please don't tell me that you came all the way out here to tend to the racing franchise."

"My dear, this is all I can do without exploding into mist and evaporating. In spite of the _wonderful_ entertainment, the seating arrangements are quite hellish."

Rayn comforted her impatient father with her leftover soft drink. Returning her attention to the fight, she cheered, "Caught the blighter with an elbow to the eye!"

Her father began to hover out of the crowd. He'd finally put on enough weight that his legs had weakened into scraggly sticks. And so, he had a hover chair customized just for him, enabling the Krew Boss to float easily at the push of a lever. His freshly seventeen-year old daughter followed him with a slump in her shoulders.

"Daddy! You're going to miss the end!"

"Just let me know when James wins so that I can collect my winnings," he shooed her off and she surrendered with air in her cheeks. Ignoring her father, the Krew Heiress made her way around the crowd, and broke through the front just in time to witness James' guillotine choke on his opponent.

Before she could encourage her fiancé, Theodore Fratto emerged from the audience behind her. He was the eldest son to the Fratto Family, a rivaling business of Underground martial artists to the McSweeneys. These were the families where one could expect only the most superior assassins and bodyguards to be bred.

Her father had found an interest in them about a year prior to this fight. Annually, the two families would challenge one another to this event. The event was disguised as a friendly bout to keep peace, when in actuality it was nothing more than a show of supremacy – which family would lure the most clientele that year.

Rayn had first encountered James at a minor brawl she'd been invited to by one of her dorm mates. Bored of having to stay trapped overseas until her father was ready to train her in the ways of weaponry and racing, Rayn was looking for a night out on the town. When she first experienced the exhilaration of watching the live and lawless sport, the high school girl was hooked.

And upon catching the eye of James McSweeney that very first night, the eldest son and most promising fighter in their line of business, it was the first time Rayn had returned to campus and leisurely requested a book on something _other_ than vehicles from the library.

It was the first time she broke her eyes away from the historical re-runs of Kras' most memorable Prixs, most depicting the Mizo family's star as their number one finisher – Razer. The Champion's clippings dressed her bulletin board amongst the memos of lunch dates and shopping reminders, but the night that James had appeared before her, it was as if she instantaneously found her goals and lusts in flesh form, and within a man that was reachable, one that she could touch unlike the distant infatuation that she constantly gawked over on television.

James McSweeney was it for her.

And so, whatever Rayn Krew wanted, Rayn Krew would do all in her power to get. And what she wanted was a part in that potentially profitable enterprise, and in particular, she _wanted_ that older man.

It wasn't long before she had convinced her father that weaponry and mixed martial arts were a match made in heaven. With the prospect of a prosperous business, headquarters both overseas and in Haven, it wasn't long before Floyd McSweeney and her father had both placed their stamps of approval on the wedding arrangement. Unfortunately for her, until she was of age, she could not marry. While both her father's and Floyd's only concern was the profit in the matchmaking of their children, neither parent prevented their courtship for the time being.

After a month of sneaking out to the fights and charming the fighter with frigid drinks and thrilling rides home in her two-passenger Anvil RTX, James responded in kind to the Krew Boss' daughter.

"Beautiful night, isn't it, Miss Krew?"

"It is," the girl shrugged, trying to keep her eye on the finishing move rather than the newly arrived distraction.

"You know, you missed the good part."

"Did I?"

"Yes. McSweeney almost flopped to an arm bar. He's lucky that he's quick on his feet-"

"And his wits," she finished sternly, not interested in his palaver. If the Fratto son was trying to woo her, he was failing - at least until he attempted a more bold approach.

"Tell me, Krew, what is it that makes the Heiress to a weaponry specialist and racing enthusiast go for the McSweeney boy over the competition?"

When she felt his hand slink over her waist, she snapped to elbow him in the ribs.

"Perhaps it was the _dashing_ smile that sold me," she spat and Theodore laughed. Even if her hit had connected, it would have only tickled.

"You're a _vicious_ one, Miss Krew. I like that."

Before she could prepare a properly _vicious_ come back, the crowd roared, signaling that the fight had ended, and it's winner chosen.

"If you would excuse me, Miss Krew. My father has a foreign guest that I must tend to..."

When she recognized the tattooed arm in the air, Rayn jostled through the crowd, keen as ever to get to James and escape Theodore. Snatching a water bottle from another spectator, the girl ran towards the victor. Bloodied and worn, despite that he'd just finished a fight, he stopped her leap with his arms. They crumpled to the ground, a pile of elated limbs. Pouring water over his head, James lashed back to indulge in the refreshment.

"Thank you, Raynie."

"You won!" she cheered, giving the man a light peck over his nose before holding the scarf of her school uniform to his bruising face.

She could hear her father yell, "Rayn Krew, you're soiling your uniform! Stand up like a proper young lady, this instant!"

Rather than pay heed to her father's scolding, she caught James mid-death glare and followed his line of vision to Theodore. He was looking very chummy in the crowd, not at all fazed by McSweeney's win. Instead, Theodore's concern seemed to be focused elsewhere, this so-called guest of importance that he had vaguely mentioned.

Rayn was not fond of her fiancé's jealous streaks. And while some of his forms of violence were the cause of the skirt ripping and rib kissing that would ensue later between them, she had to admit, there were times where even James put the fright into her – set the chill into her bones. There were two things one did not toy with when it came to James – his father's business and her. On occasion, Rayn questioned how much of a priority she was in comparison to his father's business, but perhaps it was his desire to inherit his father's success that brought them together, for Rayn sought the same goal with her own father.

"What's with the smug look on that bigot's face? Did he try and talk to you-"

"Hush, James. We should get some ice for that nose."

"Answer me," he provoked, and the girl could feel the grip on her waist tighten with territorial intent.

Irritated, Krew flung her scarf over his head and when he tried to protest, she met his lips hard. Iron and salt – blood and sweat.

When they separated, Theodore was gone and James momentarily subdued.

"Can't go bearing your fangs blindly, James."

"You're not going to have this conversation with me, are you, love?"

"Not at all."

"Stubborn little Princess."

Lending him an eye that could only be described as devilishly seductive, she remarked, "Only as stubborn as her fiancé…"

* * *

"How did_ that_ taste you bleeding ogre?"

Razer was hardly astounded that Rayn was not flat on her back by now. What _did_ stun him though, was that Cutter was having such trouble with this challenge.

"What's wrong, Cutter. Cat can't catch the mouse?"

Fueled by his _Capo_'s mockery, the masked fighter lunged forward where, once again, Rayn managed to slip away. While she was not necessarily proficient in offense, she was quick on her toes and skilled in reversing grapples. Her jabs and body hooks hardly fazed her opponent, but she saved her speed to slink out of his grasp with his every attempt. If only Cutter was ordered to be serious, she would have suffered a broken jawbone at the very least. Krew must have sensed this advantage, and so she milked it for what it was worth.

"Razer, how _delightful_ of you to keep this little- _wrestling_ match a secret until now. Were you betting against me? Is that- why you let him cheat- like the little _blighter_ he is?"

"Foul play is non-existent in a contracted execution. If the goal is to kill, a man will take any drastic measures necessary, honorable or not."

Still dodging Cutter's advances, she continued, "Well, I suppose I should be_ thanking_ you for such a_ thoughtful _life lesson. Shall we make macaroni picture frames next?"

Content that she was taking this _so_ much better than he'd expected, the racer replied, "You're not doing much damage unarmed, but you seem to know your way on your feet. Are you a fan of Muay Thai?"

"I might know my way around the fighting style. I've always been more of a fencer and a gun wielder, though."

She rolled onto the concrete with the last word and slid painfully; the sound of her skidding tailbone enough to make the lieutenant wince. Razer stepped in.

"That's enough Cutter. I told you not to get serious."

"Sorry, Boss."

Razer watched as the woman got up with a groan. She dusted her legs off and just as he wondered what her next move would be, she quickly stepped to him and tossed a palm across his face.

Razer put his arm between what would have been Cutter, bulldozing her with full force, and Rayn's back, before he lifted his fingers to examine his stinging cheek. Judging by the residual pang her hit left behind, it turned out Cutter was not the only one who did not take the sparring seriously.

"Hmm, hmm, I suppose that was a small price to pay for the bruise you'll get later on your lower back."

"You're damn right, it is! I hope that was the last of your bloody tests because I'm just about dry of comedic lines."

All humor dissipated from his face. The Champion answered sternly, "After dinner, I will give you what you want."

"Good."

"And one other thing."

Razer caught her by surprise. Whatever speed she had with Cutter, she must have used it to its limit. The man trapped her against the lockers behind them with a bang that was loud enough to startle her. She reconnected with his gaze with a defiance that set the amber in her eyes aflame. The distinct _click_ between them expressed Rayn's zeal to put her trigger finger to the test.

Taming the sharpness of his pocketed stiletto blade against his thumb, he whispered into her bangs hard enough to blow them from her line of vision. "It is not _wise_ to take my kindness for granted. You might think this is all but good fun, but _trust_ me, later you'll be thankful."

"Well if we're talking about _wise_, Razer, it would be _wise_ to stop regarding me as a toy. I'm not one to play too much before I want to kick the chessboard over and make my _own_ rules..."

* * *

**Two Years Ago…**

"Vera?"

The racer stared wide-eyed at his phone, as if he were receiving a call from Mar himself. His wife _never _called him, not directly. Ever since the accident, whenever she needed something, it was her nurse, Ruby, that called instead.

But this number, it was Vera's personal cell, and to think that after all this time she'd be calling him, the concept was unfathomable. Frightening even! His first instinct - something bad must have happened. Preparing to hop into his car and speed away as if hell's hounds were after him, the man opened his cell with a snap.

"Vera, are you all right?" He spat in one breath, making haste away from the garage so that the others didn't put their noses into his business, especially Edje. He was still resisting the urge to punch him in the face for using the last of the carnauba and sealant right before the first race. Waiting for his wife to either hand her phone over to her kidnapper or fumble with the buttons before hanging up and excusing it as an accident later, when she laughed, he wasn't sure what to say.

Now, he was _really_ confused.

"Vera?"

"I'm sorry, its just- Ruby was right, is all."

There was some shuffling in the background, and she mumbled about getting paint on the carpet. Must have been that new oil set she was taking for a spin.

"Right about what?"

"You sound so- okay, now this sounds silly. You're working, aren't you? I shouldn't have called unless it was important-"

"Tell me. I always have time for you."

He mentally kicked himself when he thought that he'd gone and made her cry, but when she laughed again, the racer smiled beneath his mask.

"You sound- you sound like my Donny on the phone. I missed hearing it."

Something in his chest ached and the man had to steady himself against a wall. Clearing his throat, he reminded, "Listen, I have to get back to work, but- I would be happy if you called me more often. Anything you need, anything at all, just call, okay?"

"Even groceries?"

"Especially groceries?"

Ruby called for her in the background and Vera replied, "All right, just a minute.

Donny?"

"I'm still here."

"Pick up some baking flour for me later."

"Baking your famous bread tonight?"

Recalling a harsh memory two years prior that had forced him through his guilt to accept his wife's pastries again, he nodded faithfully. Vera always had that trait of hers. It was her way or the highway.

"Okay, I will. No problem."

"Zuchini bread, it is then. Call me before you come into the house, okay?"

Unless she was home alone, which was almost always never, Cutter made it a habit to phone the nurse to avoid any confusion from his wife or worse, a gun to his gullet, courtesy of Ruby who had a minor in nursing, her major in assassinations.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. Don't forget, Donny."

"I won't." And he hung up, a smile forming before it straightened again behind his mask.

* * *

"Boss?"

"Stand down, Cutter."

Cutter watched the scene unfold, unsure of whether he should ready his stance for attack or let his boss handle it. By their rigid stand off, he would bet money that someone's head was going to roll and while he had full confidence in Razer, the venom in Krew's hiss kept him guessing.

Whatever wordless conversation was passing between the two as they challenged one another, both feeling out their weapons, Cutter could not translate. If it were anyone else, the blood would have already been spilled. And because the Krew Heiress was still standing for this long, the criminal had his suspicions about the second in command.

Without being previously briefed on the coming dangers, even _he_ would have been forced to wonder if Razer had defected somehow during his stay in Butcheree. Had he been unaware of a third party threat other than Krew, Cutter would have encouraged his boss to finish her off, lest there be less obstacles to deal with in the future.

_The enemy of my enemy is my friend._

Just as Cutter's cell phone vibrated, as if sensing the urgency, Razer ordered.

"Go tend to your phone call."

Cutter eyed Vera's name on the screen and while his wife was always first priority, leaving Razer in a standoff with Krew made him nervous.

Despite Cutter's lower rank to the Champion in the Mizo family hierarchy, he knew that Razer was well aware of the clauses agreed upon in Cutter's contract with Mizo. His sole reason for joining the Mizo family in the first place was because of a personal vendetta he had with a foreign family a few years back. It was the reason Cutter continued to aim and kill, even after the races were over. He could not control himself. During every race, he could only think back to that one fateful accident, and every race, he imagined those missiles aiming at the one person responsible for his every ounce of misery.

Mizo had agreed to pay for his all of his wife's medical expenses, as well as provide her protection while he was away on the circuits. In exchange, Cutter sold his soul, every day training, on the roads and in the gym. Cutter's only regret was the family he'd been a part of before defecting to Mizo. Somehow along the way, he'd developed a loyalty for both his wife Vera, and the mob family that provided him with an outlet to his rage. And now because of these obligations, with his boss and Krew in such a dangerous predicament as his cell rang - he felt torn.

"_Leave_," Razer pushed.

This time, the racer could sense the tension in his boss' voice and Cutter knew better than to disobey. Without choice in the matter, he nodded. On the way out, he took one last glance back.

He hoped he would not regret it later.

* * *

Even with the absence of Razer's muscle, the rigidity did not lift. Trying their will and patience, Razer and Rayn held firm to their positions. As the woman felt her itch to pull the trigger worsen, she finally took a deep breath, allowing Razer to step back.

In that one breath, she was vulnerable, and it would have given him the right advantage to swipe his knife across her throat. But instead, he retreated. Krew had to wonder why.

Locking the safety on her pistol, Rayn relaxed.

"I don't know about you, Krew, but I'd prefer it if we made our dinner reservations on time," he returned to last name basis. It was obvious that he still had some residual ill intent towards her.

"You're right. I think after that little scuffle, I'm quiet famished."

Rayn followed him to a four-passenger version of his Havoc V12 that would take her for a change of clothing and then to their anticipated dinner.

"You're a stubborn woman, Rayn."

"I am," she agreed.

She'd heard it before and it was one quality of hers that she was most unwilling to change.

* * *

Despite the lavishly exclusive restaurant, complete with dimly lit chandeliers and five course meals, Rayn could not eat at ease. Judging by the strain in her companion's voice, she assumed Razer was also at wit's end. They sat in total silence and when either spoke, they found that the humor had dried.

Twirling her fork wryly around the steamed vegetables, Rayn allowed her gaze to wander. It was a beautiful place for dinner. Had she been in a better mood, she would have teased the man with a coy compliment for making the reservations.

Without realizing her mouth had gone running without her, Rayn mumbled, "So, Razer, did you tie all of those loose strings you were talking about?"

"I did."

"Hmm. I see."

The man grunted and returned to his sirloin. The awkward atmosphere threatening to drive her mad, Krew continued to pursue.

"Are you sure you'd rather not just work for me?"

"Completely sure."

"And what of your men?"

"They will go wherever they please."

"So, that's it, huh? Not a care left in the world?"

"Only one."

Even knowing full well what was coming, she couldn't resist asking anyway.

"And that would be?"

"Who's going to deliver my _Haus Bergmanns _from this point on?"

Rayn hid a contemptuous smile behind a napkin.

_Arrogant fool_.

She'd never forget it.

If the _dinner_ was awkward, then the _drive_ to his loft was _painfully_ gauche. After she assumed that they were done with compromises, Razer refused to lead her to his home unless she called off all snipers and tails.

"Impressive. You knew all along, but I'd expect no less from you."

"I'm grateful for your confidence in me by now. Seems that you have learned something."

"Perhaps I have."

And she did. There was no return without give when it came to this man. The criminal was sharp. Not only was it suggested by his name, but his way with Mizo's team and his competitive squabbling that kept her in constant disarray. Never had she faced an adversary as tricky as Razer. It wasn't until she was this close and personal that she realized the potential he had of ruling the entire family on his own, and instead, most likely foreseeing Mizo's demise long ago, he humbly settled for second seat.

Razer did not take action nor did he say words without intention, whether direct or clandestine. Every split second of Razer's life had purpose and Rayn was not foolish enough to think that he'd really accepted his new life as Butcheree prisoner without having something in the works. He _had_ to. And as much as she really did _not_ want to ask, she had no choice.

But the deeds came first and foremost.

The woman absorbed the Eastern flair of his loft's curb appeal as she waited for him to unlock his door. She'd failed to appreciate the details the last time she'd stormed in with authorities and killers alike, not caring who the fisher was, as long as the catch was made. The small fishponds were a relaxing touch, the pavement lanterns a gentle way to lead to the entrance. Rayn made a mental memo to install similar features by her mansion.

When she heard the door unlock, his back almost colliding into her face abruptly halted her stride.

"As we agreed, Krew, check your heavies."

"Oh, all right," she huffed, removing a walkie-talkie from her jacket. "Report your positions."

The electronic cackled and confirmed that both of her support teams were safe distances away.

"Your precious privacy is secret safe with me," she winked.

* * *

With Krew's reassurance, Razer walked into his home. Relieved that poachers or authorities didn't take it upon themselves to trash the place, he hung his coat by the door before chucking his dress shirt over the loveseat. He acted with complete disregard to the woman behind him and felt it best to keep it that way.

According to his calculations, he only had about eight hours left and hoped to fit a hot tub soak, a coffee break, and a chance to catch up on overdue medications. He also had a book in need of finishing, the one that Krew _rudely_ interrupted the day she raided his home with demands. The page should still be folded and waiting.

But before anything could get done, he was aware that he needed to give her what she wanted first. And despite what most would think in his position, Razer was composed. Sure, he was going to hand her the key to the promised land, in which he shed blood, sweat and tears to build for almost two decades, and in just one second, it would all be gone but-

The racer was content with it. _Fine. Dandy._ After all, getting it back was nothing more than a delayed guarantee.

So when she tapped her foot and pushed, "Are we going to dawdle or are you ready to hand them over?" the man grinned genuinely for the first time in hours since he'd almost shaved her windpipe.

"Patience, Rayn. I gave you my word, didn't I?"

Although he wasn't facing her, he could hear her pouting. Attentive of the careful footfall that mirrored his own as he led her to his showroom; he stalled a second before flicking on the lights. When her pouting gave way to a delighted gasp, it was exactly what he was waiting for.

"Is that- is that a _Rapine_?"

"It is. Seventies model."

"Y-yes! I know. How did you get your hands on this?"

In a single moment, it was evident that Rayn Krew's disdain for him, since their little discrepancy in the garage, had been momentarily forgotten when being faced with shiny fenders on classic brands. Had he known it was this easy; he would have prevented his arrest by dragging her to his showroom weeks ago.

The Rapine was painted in a glossy Opal, that from afar, made the automobile look like a giant, glistening pearl. Razer stopped in front of it and lifted the hood. As if knowing the engine like a surgeon knew innards, with quick maneuvering, Razer pulled out a small key that he was sure no one would have found unless they'd stripped down every car in his showroom apart, and that was _if_ they could have pulled it off without setting the Red Eco explosives he had installed into every one.

When he finally faced her, he found that Rayn's eyes were on everything _but_ him. Somehow she'd gotten to the other end of the room, shamelessly running her fingers across fenders and giving light kicks to tires. He was sure no matter _how_ much money her father had - weaponry was always her father's first passion. Racing, however, was in Mizo blood. While Krew must have sought after the sport as a hobbyist, Mizo _lived_ the sport. And so did Razer.

As if waking up from her dream, Rayn shuddered and tip-tapped over to him, wearing her best poker face, regardless of the obvious sparkle of awe in her eye.

"This key is the key to a safe deposit box located in Kras' Federal Bank."

"This is where the deeds are?"

"Yes."

"How do I know you're not lying?"

"You'll know where to find me if I am."

She cleared her throat, "I suppose I do."

After receiving the key, she hesitated. Her body swayed for a reason to stay, whether to pet and coo all of his classical cars or something else. When the woman caught wind of his amusement, she stomped her foot.

"Is something funny?"

"Not at all, Princess, but I think it is past your bedtime."

She sighed, "Y-yes, you're right. I came for the deeds and now I have them."

"You have what you want?"

"Yes, I do."

Now that their mood had lightened and the clock continued to shed off the minutes until his incarceration, Razer dared to pursue the unresolved word play that had been gnawing at their physical attraction to one another for some time now. It was a move that Razer was not usually known to make, but considering the kind of woman Rayn Krew was, and his time limit, he opted on taking a chance. After all, sleeping with the enemy, a woman of Rayn's caliber who had, so far, managed to successfully steer clear from being executed by him, was an enticing opportunity.

As for how she had managed to survive this long, aside from his ulterior motives business wise, Razer summed it down to her charm, perchance?

Curious to see if she would flutter around like a flapping and over zealous schoolgirl or approach him like a Crime Heiress should, Razer made his pursuit.

"Do you?"

* * *

Baffled by his questioning, Rayn warily answered, "Yes."

"I see."

_Why would he ask that? Is he toying with me again?_

The woman instantly remembered that moment beneath the vehicle during their transmission change. Blindly making her way towards the exit of the showroom, she hid the red in her cheeks. Regret nagged her, for being unable to relish in the one of a kind collection of cars that only dreams were made of, but with all of her objectives met, there was nothing left here.

_Except_ for one thing.

"_One _more question."

She was surprised when Razer had met her at the doorway, a bare arm lining the wooden frame.

"How long do I have to live? An estimate is fine with me."

"Rayn, Rayn, Rayn, I know not of what you speak."

"Oh, _come_ on. You don't really think that I'm _that _naïve, do you?"

"Naïve?"

"Yes. I'm throwing you into one of the world's most gruesome penitentiaries, _renowned _for swallowing people, both innocent and guilty, to be fully digested and never secreted. I expect that you have _some_ sort of brilliant scheme up your sleeve, either to bust out, kill me, or both."

"Oh, Krew. You overestimate me. Why would I want to get rid of something as _lovely_ as you?"

"Taking the piss, are we?"

"Not at all. Every word that I've ever said is in _all_ seriousness."

"You're talking bollocks, Razer."

He chuckled, leaning more comfortably against the doorframe as he pinched at the stubble on his chin.

After some thought, he offered, "Well, all right. I _will_ confirm your suspicions that I am, in fact, _scheming_. As for _what_ this scheme entails, _that_, I cannot share. As for estimates on your death, that estimate all depends on you, and therefore I cannot give you that, either.

_However_, there is _one_ estimate that I _can_ give."

There were scratches on the doorframe, like a stray cat looking for the fire. Rayn realized that she was the source and instead of pulling away, she kept her nails planted against the same side he leaned against. Somehow the space between them had shortened.

Now she was positive that the Champion, whose clippings adorned her dorm in high school, was in fact, flirting with her. And Rayn did not have amnesia. She was aware that there were gears turning inside of that man's mind, however, at this moment, his intent to kill her had become something else. The wordless exchange of a different kind compared to earlier in the day, spelled it out loud and clear, and as a former fan of his and a woman in general, she was not entirely against the idea.

Eager to entertain the possibility of where this fling would take them, she purposely fed his every remark.

"Is that so? And _what_ would that estimate be for?"

"Thirty seconds."

"W-what?"

"Twenty five."

"For what?"

"Twenty more seconds before I leave this exit available to you."

The corners of her red lips reached her ears. "Really? What happens when the exit is blocked?"

"That, _also_, depends on you."

"Well then, the next ten seconds will be one hell of a wait."

"I _did _warn you beforehand, did I not?"

"Hmm?"

They flanked one another, taunting behind each evasive statement. The lieutenant did not entirely block her exit, which meant one thing to Rayn. This could either be an invitation or a casting out. She was not a Crime Boss' daughter for naught and so, the woman was making a gamble, aiming to scratch that itch she had thought she'd lost until Razer had made her remember that they were men worth paying some attention to.

"You should be careful what you wish for, Miss Krew."

This time she welcomed the reminiscence from earlier in the day. She heard it all over again. Right above her face. Underneath that car where their chests melded and his every word resonated directly against her body.

"I'm a woman that knows what she wants, Razer, and I do _not_ second guess."

"Then why is it that you do not seem entirely satisfied with our business proceedings? Is there something you have yet to mention on your _royal_ list of whims and wants?"

"I have a _very_ long list," she admitted.

"Then maybe," when he whispered by her ear, the vibration shook her bones, "We can re-evaluate our negotiations and make another deal – off the record."

"I refuse," the Crime Lord answered easily, although she was slowly being backed into the Rapine she'd praised before. She allowed every step. Whatever aggressive intention was behind the tightening of his triceps, his prowl was not murderous.

Rayn took his vertical gaze boldly.

"You've caught me red-handed, Razer. I think what I _really_ want right now-"

As her back hit the front grill of the Rapine, she sprawled her fingers deliberately across one of the headlights. "-Is this seventies model Rapine."

The Heiress strolled her fingers up his arm as she felt his presence weigh over her. "Yes. I think that's it. I want this car."

Razer snickered at her palpable fiction, not that Rayn was trying to be secretive about it in the first place. He watched as the woman coyly stuffed the small key into her breast pocket.

Parking her fingers on the expanse of his shoulder, while her other hand was occupied with its appreciative strokes across the Rapine's headlight, she asked, "So, what say you?"

"That _classic_ has a hefty price tag. What's in it for me?"

"How about a _spiffing_ memory before I hurl you back into the bowels-"

When he hoisted her on top of the hood and secured her thigh in his palm, Rayn was caught off guard. Luckily the straps of his singlet, that she had helped herself to, kept her from toppling over. Eye to eye - nose to nose - she waited.

The criminal smoothly found the precious piece on her garter, after all, he already knew where to find it due to some _previous _experience, and slowly slid it down her knee. She watched as he set her handgun aside and moved to unarm himself as well. When all knives and guns were out in the open, the woman could not help but comment.

"How foolish of me to think that you only relied on that silly stiletto blade. Should have expected you were packing more."

"Convinced that I was nothing more than toothless predator without my blade? I thought you knew this already. Even if I am unarmed-"

"You are never-"

"-harmless," he finished.

That was when he glided her down to straddle him, her bare legs on the hood giving a squeak. Thumbs flat on either end of her coxal bone; he disregarded her riding skirt this time, and held her in place. Even with his large torso giving her knees something to curl around, the close proximity was still not enough.

Because his audacious action had left her breathless, she huffed on her remaining exhale, "You have approximately eight hours before you return to Butcheree, as we agreed."

_

* * *

_

"That is correct."

When he heard the _clack_ of her heels falling to the floor, he instantly recalled the last time he heard the same sound and under different circumstances. Inquisitive, he hovered over her neck to find his qualms satiated.

_Pumpkin spice._

He was pleased that she did not reject him, in fact, she seemed _very_ comfortable in his embrace - just another inkling that he was right about her.

The Rapine was a beautiful body of knots and gears, but the body she favored was _not _mechanical.

She chided, "There will be _no_ foul play when you return to Butcheree, Razer. _Nothing_ dodgy."

"Of course," he paid little heed to her intimidation tactics since her words were stuttered, "I will return from whence I came."

Razer was a picky man. Women were usually nothing more than a species of fowl. Those he did take to bed, it was a matter of feral instinct, not necessarily desire. Deliberate foreplay, curious exploration, or time spent on indulgence - they were all unnecessary in the act of taking one of these birds to please him, before he was rid of her in time to order room service and not have to share.

He'd come to comprehend though, that Rayn Krew, was _not_ a bird.

This woman was a lioness. Hunting her own prey and guarding her territory, Razer had an enjoyable time as they went claw to claw a matter of times today, testing their fangs only to find that they sharpened one another.

The racer knew that she wanted to claim him, but was not seeking to entirely take the dominant role. Still clutching to his singlet, she made no further moves. It was evident that her invitation required certain _conditions_ to be met before she became wholly hospitable. It was about that time, time to admit that despite the few drawbacks within the past few weeks, he was enticed by her. And even when they were seconds from collateral damage and igniting a new genocidal war between the Mizos and Krew, there was some joy in her rivalry with him.

Blitz must've be turning in his grave, but with the developing realizations involving the Krew Princess, Razer understood that what had been simmering all these hours until now were _not_ merely a matter feral instinct.

It was _definitely_ desire.

And _because_ it was desire, _with_ pleasure, despite his eight-hour limit, he'd take the time to explore, indulge and engage her in foreplay until he had her begging for him.

Trying to salvage her pride, she prattled, "Good. I'm glad we understand one another. Now, about this Rapine-"

Razer shut her up and without protest. He nipped at her lips with careful deliberation, stroking any insecurity until he felt her relax. When he left her lips to taste her pulse, and relish in her sweet perfume, he was proud of the way her spine arched beneath him. The arch gave him enough leeway to adjust her against his growing arousal as he tended to her throat. The adjustment earned him a whimper from the usually proud Crime Lord.

"So, a-about this- car-"

He almost laughed at her play to act unaffected.

"We can save that discussion for later."

Rayn stole the leading role and grabbed for him. The woman sighed into his kiss and once he felt her thrust against him, the racer was done with their evasive banter.

"I know you _love_ my showroom, but I suggest that we get more comfortable _else_where."

The Krew Heiress, just as fed up with talk as he was, answered with an appreciative lick over his earlobe.

"Should I assume that this is going to be a very long night then?"

"Were you expecting something else?"

Rayn smiled, unrestricted, girlish, and in a way that Razer hoped to see more often.

"I would not expect any less from a Kras City Champion…"

* * *

**There is a Lemon Scene that can be inserted here. You can read it by following the link in my profile before proceeding with this chapter. The Lemon contains no major story plot and so it is safe to skip if you prefer to…**

* * *

Weasley had just clocked in when word of their most exclusive and renowned prisoner had reached his ears. With an added hop to his hurried pace, the officer made way towards the Gate Lodge where the guest, if that was the best word to fit at this point in time, was sure to be welcomed with a series of rigorous pat downs and derogatory insults.

"Prepare solitary in _L'abîme_. The Mizo loyalist is checking in."

Weasley could hear the bars clank in unison, a sound rival to that of a passing freight train, of convicts over several towering floors yanking at their cells either in salutations or abhorrence. Very few had the reputation to cause such a chain reaction like this. Then again, when it came to the best and the worst, the best were too good to be caught, the worst met their ends in death instead, as such is the tale of the Notorious Crime Boss Mizo, now publicly know as Gervasio Tammaro Blitz. So it was a rare occasion to have incarcerated either of the two and Razer, Mizo's most trusted lieutenant, Weasley was unsure of which end of the spectrum he belonged.

When Weasley found Senior Officer Ruiz, who took it upon himself to _personally_ greet Miss Krew and the Convict at the entrance, they were mid-booking process. If Rayn Krew was aware of how restless the other inmates were, she did well to hide it. Her face was stern as she watched the racer get fingerprinted.

"Weasley," Ruiz beckoned, "Have you prepared the cell?"

"Yes, sir. It will be ready when we descend."

"Officer Weasley," Razer unexpectedly cut in, "I am flattered that you came _all_ this way _just_ to escort me to my so very _comfortable_ box."

The man decided it best to answer with a vague grunt. While faithful to the Combat Racing expert, Ruiz was present and was his superior. Ruiz was so quick-witted that even so much as an eye twitch from Weasley would be enough to declare him a traitor.

And it wasn't that Weasley would ever necessarily _help_ Razer in any of his murderous street endeavors or lend him opportunity to escape Butcheree, however, if he happened to pass the incident occurring, he was not the type to go jumping in head first, brandishing superhero capes and chest emblems. It was one of the reasons he'd taken this job in the first place. Better to stand watch rather than actively pursue. Besides, in a city crazed about racing, Weasley was a paranoid driver anyway, so the most he'd be catching on wheels was a teen pickpocket, at least until he'd be morally forced to stop at a red light.

Call him lazy, call him passive, and maybe his allegiance did not really lie with anyone, but it was nothing to keep him up at night.

If the prisoners were particularly restless upon Razer's arrival to Butcheree, once they finished booking with the nurse, Weasley found that the other prison guards might have been even _less_ hospitable. He was sure upon descent off the main floor, he heard an officer gargle up as much phlegm as he could humanely muster and spit only inches behind them.

His heart stopped when it happened. If it had been outside Butcheree, it would have earned the offending cop a blade in the eyes - _that_, he had no doubt. A blind officer was as good as a wingless Monkaw. In his desperation to ease the building tension, he announced, "Two more floors."

Razer smirked, exchanging wordless dialogue with Rayn Krew as they caught eyes and then broke away. Ruiz, noting the exchange, said nothing.

Before this, Weasley wouldn't have even _imagined_ that the decade old racer could be capable to anything close to misdemeanor. If he weren't watching his races religiously at every Grand Prix live, then he would listen over radio while on duty. The inside of his locker, as well as a reserved section of his home den, was festooned in nothing, but newspaper clippings and photographs of the celebrity.

It wasn't until he became prison guard five years ago that he learned of Razer's Underground dealings through the several inmates discarded by Mizo. And it wasn't until these past few weeks that'd he'd seen other expressions on the Champion far from the artificial and social ones usually displayed to the paparazzi.

"May I?"

Miss Rayn Krew reached for the file that Ruiz was carrying. It listed all pending charges on the racer, along with his court dates. He watched as his Superior handed perfectly confidential information to a woman who was nowhere _near_ employed by the city's correctional facilities. When he looked to their inmate, he seemed undisturbed.

With the acknowledgement of years full of rigged races and paid executions confirmed as more than rumor, it still failed to blemish Weasley's admiration for the man. The nonchalance and dignity that Razer radiated upon his arrest when Krew reeled him in, he still recalled clear as day. Not once, did the racer divulge fear, discomfort or anguish - his stride purposeful as they escorted him to Solitary. It was with that very entrance that Weasley had pledged his everlasting adherence, and upon his return home that night, added one more clipping to his collection.

It was a document he'd written himself of an event few were lucky enough to witness - the arrest that failed to break a Champion.

"We're home," Ruiz announced behind him.

The floor was eerily quiet in comparison to those above them. Weasley could hear his heart hammer.

"I trust that I am at _least_ re-stocked on proper toiletries this time?"

Before anyone could answer, the Crime Lord butt in.

"Grooming just for your guards? Well, if the shoe fits..."

"I _do_ have to look presentable for my most frequent visitor, Miss Krew."

"Oh? And who might this _frequent _visitor be?"

If the officer hadn't known any better, he'd say that she was being precocious and the racer might have been slightly pleased with the humor. Right away, he dismissed the blasphemous idea. They arrived by the cell and their inmate stopped to answer.

"Who else would bring my _Haus Bergmann's_?"

* * *

When they stopped by the Solitary Confinement cell Razer had been assigned to before, Rayn was almost sorry to dispose of him there. _Almost._

A deal was a deal. And Rayn Krew held true to her deals. If anyone had any doubt, she'd happily refer them to a group of bitter Haven civilians she had blackmailed into racing for her without their knowledge. She _did_ reward them with the antidotes, after all. It wasn't _her_ fault that they didn't look into the fine print.

When the heavy door opened, Rayn commented, "I'd almost forgotten how _charming_ the interior design was. Now I wish I hadn't been reminded."

"I believe my charm is sufficient enough to improve. Haven't you heard? That was one hell of a reception I received today."

"Touché."

The shackles jingled as the guards freed his wrists. The woman shook off the brief recollection of what those joints felt like in her hands - the snap she could still feel in her palms, the same snap that must've happened with every sharp turn in his Havoc. When she thumbed through his file, she had to bite hard whenever she'd spotted a felony she was certain he was guilty of, but because of lacking evidence, was convinced he'd never be convicted for.

She watched his broad back in horribly faded uniform enter the cell. She memorized the pronunciation in his jaw as he turned to her and before she could find his eyes- the windows to the soul- fate had resolved to keep the man a mystery.

All went black, the floor came alive, and Rayn was sure she was dead.

* * *

"Rayn!"

She could hear her father's voice again, as if she had traversed through time in the obscurity. Her ears rung with the uproar of prisoners and authorities in panic.

As if the absence of her own heart beat wasn't worrisome enough, it was only seconds after she'd stopped breathing that she heard the most frightening sound of all.

Brief silence. It must have only lasted seconds. Cell doors whined, released due to the power outage and in Butcheree, the hush could only signify a catastrophe.

Rayn clawed at air. Where the guards had been, where the walls had been, it was as if she'd been aimlessly dropped into a vortex of nothing because nothing was all she found as she scavenged.

It was all coming back to her…

"Daddy!" Rayn squeaked, at first confused until it hit her. The lights were gone, the halls were ear puncturing and the sound of rolling shells were distinct as the guards around her vibrated with rattling machine guns.

She hiccupped, "D-daddy, where are you?"

This time, she yelled, her voice being drowned out by Haven's most wanted, spilling from their cells like an infestation of Muskrats. She could feel their presence crawling up her legs as they rushed past her, a few crashing into her and breaking the fortress of protectors.

"Don't worry, sweetheart, we won't let- anything bad-"

Mister Sig's words became minced before the sea of pandemonium drowned him out.

Cool air hit her face, which meant the fortress of bodies had crumbled. The volume of what could only be described as the call of an undomesticated flock in murderous heat, set off chimes that forced the little girl to pin her small ears with her hands. Rayn screamed, not hearing her own voice, but distinguishing the heat in her eyes and the salt in her mouth.

She shrieked, "Daddy! Where are you?"

"Rayn! Sweetheart! Daddy's-"

Her father was fading in a direction she was unaware of. Forces were pushing and pulling, tugging her every which way as the convicts struggled to escape. She could almost hear her father faintly, shouting to cease-fire because his child was somewhere in the vicinity.

The air too thick, the little girl hunched over to shield from gunshots, dropping low and hoping none of the bullets would ricochet.

Desperately, she reached out for something, _anything_, to grab - a hand, a wall, a bar - _something_ that would steady her in the waves of confusion. As soon as she did so, a hostile grabbed, yanking her so hard, the girl hardly had time to yelp in pain when she felt her arm pull from her socket with a _click_ that she felt more than heard.

When she had the breath to speak, she was against ice, the bars melding into her spine as a pair of limbs threatened to choke her.

"D-Daddy-"

"Shut up, Krew brat or I'll filet your neck."

This time, the little Krew Heiress was positive that she was crying. Her voice knotted painfully inside her throat. Kicking and wriggling, Rayn gasped, and she boldly gave one last cry for help. It would be her last attempt that night.

"D-Daddy-"

The roughness of a dull and rusted blade was one that could never compare to one that had been fully sharpened. It felt like the ragged teeth of a powerless chainsaw as it made its path down her chest.

* * *

"I've shared the legacies behind my scars, so do tell me yours."

At four in the morning, after two rounds, a soak between and a nap to end it, a third round eased Rayn awake. While the first two were with intention, with caution, and not without their share of defense mechanisms, it seemed that by this time, bitterness had eroded and their bodies were too sore to complain.

His eyes were clear with the moonlight coming in from the balcony and it was probably the first time she had bothered to face them head on. Too low on energy to bicker over dominance and wrestle, she'd done the one thing Razer had been scolding her to do all night.

Relax.

The racer was delicate. Slow, but firm. Every twist, every turn, she felt it in places she'd never known until now and she'd remember them because of it.

Rayn, too proud to lose herself into those orbs earlier in the night, now let herself fall willingly. A side effect from being half asleep or not, she was unsure, but nevertheless, she still enjoyed the sound of his panting in her ear, the heat over her nose when they were face to face, where his eyes spoke words she could still not yet completely decipher, aside from the fact that his every touch was with sincerity.

Somewhere far off she imagined what it would have been like had she been normal - a normal woman working a white-collar job somewhere with a normal lover. And that's lover would ease her awake like this, an hour before the children woke for school. This fantasy of hers was in reality, a split second ponder, but one she had visited often once before and had forgotten again, until tonight.

In their love and hate making aftermath, she found her designated favorite patch of hair over his chest, and curled it in unison with the strokes he spread down her back with hands, that she was aware, belonged to a killer.

She was too lazy to restrain her grin. "I've only got one or two and none as awe inspiring as yours."

"Try me. I need a tale to lull me back to sleep anyway."

The Heiress would have hesitated, but it had been her who inquired first about the map of scars crosshatching his body, the ones she'd been confronted with so boldly that time in _The Abattoir. _The woman always found conversation suited a hot tub soak. Just like a child waiting to hear a bedtime story, she was gathered into his lap and listened intently to the few he was willing to share. Now the tables had turned.

"You're curious about the one on my chest, aren't you?"

Razer hummed.

He must've known that this was a touchy topic for her from the last time he asked, but the racer was known for his persistence.

"I'm sure you remember the last I mentioned my trauma with Haven's prison?"

"I recall, but you were _sparse_ on details."

"Well, when I was a child, my father had me accompany him on a meeting with the Baron. For whatever reason, we were escorted down into the basement of the palace where the penitentiary resided."

"I've heard the rumors about the experiments after the Baron was overthrown and the political system shifted. A different aura than that of Butcheree, I imagine?"

"_Very_," Rayn emphasized, sitting up and giving him her back; the loss of physical contact a sign that she was becoming uncomfortable again. "Back then, the security systems weren't as advanced as they are today and there was a blackout. I was about ten. A fleeing inmate tried to redecorate me from the neck up."

"The daughter of a weapon's specialist and you didn't have a piece stuffed into each of your toys? I would have thought you were proficient in weapons at ten."

When he heard her snicker, the man eased her back against him and she permitted it.

"One of my father's most trusted guards managed to find me somehow. Just as I felt the blade on my throat, he yanked the inmate away, but it was so dark, and the struggle so rough, the knife got my chest instead.

While the struggle continued, I crawled away, not yet able to see the blood, but feeling the warmth spread over my dress. My hands were stomped on. My head kicked. I thought I was as good as Metal Head meat until the lights returned and I looked up.

First and last thing I saw was another inmate above me, ready to aim a metal bar straight at my skull before he was shot at point blank range by my father, his blood showering over me as he collapsed. All the red, his wide eyes as his corpse fell; I passed out from blood loss before I could see it hit the floor."

There was a brief silence before she felt the racer give her arms a squeeze. "You were right. Definitely not as entertaining as my stories."

Rayn might have laughed again. The Champion was unsure. When he fit his chin into the crook of her neck, he realized that she'd already fallen asleep with her hand unconsciously over her scar.

Razer found that hand and gently guided her to let go. At the same time, he felt an all too familiar pang in his own chest, a ticking time bomb of what was to come…

* * *

"No! Release me-"

"Rayn-"

"I swear, I'll k-kill you-"

"Rayn!"

His embrace around her tightened and she must have grown sick. The woman's body now limp, the Heiress was preparing for the worse when he sifted an unyielding whisper into her ear.

"Calm down. _Breath._"

She was hyperventilating, her inhale sharp and her exhale, wheezes.

"Close your eyes and follow my shift in weight."

He did not release her. Her shoulders flush with his chest, he tugged in a direction, and she blindly followed, clutching at his thick forearms with her nails. She started again when they came to a stop.

"We're against a corner, Rayn. Keep breathing."

If her nails hurt, Razer showed no sign. Instead, his clasping arm kept her at bay, his other out and armed with the shiv he'd been personally forged only days before. Who knew that he would actually have use for such a weapon?

The so-called Crime Lord of Kras was shaking like a leaf against him. He breathed deeply, deliberately, trying to get her body to naturally sync with his breathing pattern.

"Breath in. Breath out," he instructed, careful to keep his voice low and in her ear so as not to attract too much attention. Now that the lights were out, it was fair game. They were coming for them, but it would take time to find them first.

Water dripped and trickled over his elbow, and he was conscious of it not coming from the pipes above them.

"Listen, to me. Rayn Krew, this is an assassination attempt. The target is your life and unless you cherish this life of yours, you need to calm down."

The woman clung to his arm with both of hers as if his limb were her lifeline in the middle of an ocean. Clearing her throat, she nodded, her hair sticking to his neck.

"Ok-okay. I'm okay."

"Good."

When her trembling had slowed, Rayn managed to ask, "R-Razer? What's happening?"

"Someone's overthrown the system. The inmates are out, but for some odd reason, it sounds as if not all the cells have been released."

He paused to listen before continuing, "Something's wrong."

"Wrong?"

"If this was a normal failure in the system, all the cells should have been released. If only particular cells have been released instead, then-"

"Then someone has a personal agenda."

"Exactly. And whoever _he_ or _they_ are, they would need extensive knowledge on the security systems in order to bypass them. This _is_ Butcheree Cliffs. The technology isn't very forgiving."

"Wait, you don't mean-"

"Precisely. Whoever's done this, is _not_ from the outside. And whoever has pulled this off, _knew_ that you would be in _this_ part of the penitentiary at _this_ very moment."

Eyes wide, which did no good to enhance her vision, the racer could at least tell that her fear had subsided and anger was setting in.

"So, whoever it is, is someone I know and-"

"And is here. Right now."

There was a pause before she replied, "It seems that we have found ourselves in a real dog's dinner. I say we put paid to this little light show."

"Agreed."

With her newfound determination, it would make things easier. His only setback now was whether or not to lead her onward, or use the shiv in his hand to claim this bounty for himself…

* * *

**Glossary:**

Taking the piss: Making fun of someone.

Talking bollocks: Typically used to describe something that is no good (that's bollocks) or that someone is talking rubbish (he's talking bollocks). Surprisingly it is also used in a positive manner to describe something that is the best, in which case you would describe it as being "the dog's bollocks".

Real dog's dinner: If you make a real mess of something it might be described as a real dog's dinner.

Put paid to: This is an expression, which means to put an end to something. For example you could say that rain put paid to the cricket match, meaning it stopped play.

* * *

**A/N: Not much vocabulary in this one since a lot of the words, I've already defined in earlier chapters. I'm a bit insecure with whether or not the ending scene interrupts the cliffies I have, and now that Cutter's becoming a little more integrated into story, if he still feels a bit intrusive? Please share any opinions.**

**Also, for the lemon, had a hard time with it. I didn't want to write flowers and holding hands and rainbows. I imagined that these were two people who have committed crimes in their lives (whether major or minor) and were used to a different kind of lifestyle then let's say if I wrote a scene between Jak and Keira. I couldn't imagine anything too clean, and so I can only hope that people approached the lemon I wrote with caution haha, it wasn't intended for kiddies or for people who were looking for love confessions, although I have to say, I did write it a tad prettier than I could have. Anyway, if anyone did read it, I'd love to know what people thought…**

**Ugh, the action chapters are coming…**


	4. Pitch Black

**Pitch Black**

They lay low, a horde of Manta invisible beneath the dawn's candlelight, and camouflaged where they were no different from the boulders around the sharp crag. Security was so unyielding, it was as good as gathering around the perimeters of an anthill to get to the Queen. To the men standing in for the fraction of an ant colony though, the hill was a Metal Head nest in comparison.

They went in three man teams, proper for small operations.

"Entry team, positioned and standing by. Over."

"Charlie team ready and standing by. Over."

Cutter squeezed his walkie, "Roger that Entry and Charlie. Bravo team, positioned and waiting for the call. On signal, Entry team heads out. In five, Charlie follows. Over."

"Copy that, Bravo."

Shiv was in charge of Entry team, Edje leading Charlie. Cutter was assigned the left side of the penitentiary, where the cliff was steepest, sharpest, and any forced entry, humanely impossible. The front, where the single entrance road was visible, and the rear, where escapees commonly fell towards the ocean, were armed to the teeth. On signal, Entry and Charlie would ram the massive building on both spine and chest simultaneously, the diversion making its arms easier to pull unnoticed.

Shiv's "stay composed in the face of death" attitude gave his team the perfect requirements to assault headfirst in their combat vehicles, whistling their first Super Nova's to draw the first glances of attention. Edje's excellent defense and offense would spring Red Eco explosives on the rear, the spattering shrapnel and Eco concealing the small mine Cutter would set off when he reached the targeted area.

Cutter had his men ready in Dune Hoppers until the terrain would force them to climb - their only objective to remain invisible and whisk away before Butcheree even knew what was missing.

If all went according to Boss' calculations, it should all go as planned. With Gianni Accardo working an overtime shift and acting as their contact inside, they'd know the exact moment of attack.

Cutter leaned against the Hopper's large tire, hands shaking as he chewed on the _mere _thought of exacting his revenge. He could almost _feel_ the resistance of wet and crunching tendon against his knuckles already. As he was about to take a swig from his water bottle, he stopped an inch from lifting his mask. As if he predicted it, his heart skipped and an unnatural hush fell over the prison.

No alarms. No spotlights. No gunfire. The racer strained his ears, and he could swear on his life that the birds had stopped too.

There was a tune on his belt and he flipped open his cell.

"It's Gianni."

"Listening," was all Cutter said. He wasn't much for people he didn't know well.

"The lights are out, I repeat, lights out. System's been hacked and the threats are loose. If you want your _Capo_ roasting chestnuts over an open fire tonight, I suggest you move your asses _now_.

The inmates are hungrier than ever thanks to the heads of two ruling families waltzing in. _Che cavolo?_ They should have painted bull's-eyes on their foreheads-"

"Wilco." Cutter hung up on the ranting officer and reached for his walkie.

"Entry team, the stage is yours. Cutter, over and out."

* * *

**Seven Years Ago…**

Cutter loaded the last of their suitcases in the back of his two-passenger Peen Hammer, the civilian predecessor of combat racing's version, the Hammer Head. They'd agreed to pack light. Aside from the lively atmosphere in the morning markets that smelled of ripe fish and fresh bread, and Vera's very modest collection of wine in the cellar beneath their small townhouse, they weren't attached too much. The moldy garage, his duck taped punching bag, that quaint little view outside the kitchen window as Vera washed the dishes, it was something they could find elsewhere.

Vera never called him by his Underground Alias. She was probably the only one left who didn't, not that he minded; in fact, he wouldn't have it any other way.

"Donny, honey, can we take this?"

The fighter turned the rearview mirror from his eyes to find the small set of hands holding onto a small vase.

"You really want to take _that_ with us?"

"Yes. _This_. Only this."

It was probably the ugliest vase in existence - a product of Vera's experiments. While Cutter was involved in a business, where a day to day without a bone breaking or muscle spraining, was good enough for him, Vera sought to escape routine life by pursuing random crafts. It was the first vase she had forced him to make with her. The garage walls told the story - of oven-baked clay on a ninety-degree afternoon that managed to harden just fine without the oven and after a couple hours of unsuccessful molding. She made many more after that, ones that actually _looked_ like something, but it was obvious which one she favored most.

"Fine."

Since it was his fault for this last minute vacation, Cutter couldn't find it in himself to say no. Adjusting the mirror back to his eyes, it was the last glimpse he'd ever get of them before the rest of his years would reflect a different set. If only he'd taken the extra few seconds to memorize what they'd looked like back then.

As if sensing her husband mulling over the night before, the woman fit a hand over his.

"We'll be all right," she reassured and he nodded.

Last night marked a big event for the Family. Their annual bout was a deciding factor in clientele every year and with their rivaling clan rising up two years in a row, Boss wasn't having a third. Ever since his elopement with Vera - the girl with a cute accent, that he found vigorously and apologetically wiping his front fender with her jacket after an unfortunate spill of pasta sauce from her bag of groceries - Cutter might have allowed her to shift around his priorities a bit.

Despite the losses that were piling up against him, the fighter promised the boss that he'd shine on the big night when it mattered most. Bets were on, bleachers were full, and it wasn't until he woke up facing the sky that he realized that he'd been KO'd.

It wasn't the only thing he realized. As he walked through the audience, he didn't need to look over to the Boss to know that he was less than pleased. Not wanting to wait for an official pink slip, it was the last straw that would lead the fighter to accept a pending offer he'd been chewing on for months before and refusing. The career change was overseas and the nature of the sport- less _personal_.

A change of scenery was probably just what the doctor ordered. And it was probably best to turn hobby into employment, at least then, he'd enjoy it more. When he drove away from the small home that he'd only spent a few months in with his new wife, he didn't bother to look back. Whatever awaited them overseas, he was sure it was better than here. After growing up in Iceland Citadel before moving here mid-teen years, a metropolis full of lights and shopping districts sounded slightly appealing, and maybe Vera would have plenty stores to choose from for fresh bread.

"Oh, stop here a sec."

Speaking of bread, one last roll for the road wouldn't hurt.

When Cutter braked, she hadn't even waited for the tires to completely stop when she flew out the car door and dived into the crowd. As if trying to make a marathon goal, she was back in moments, a large loaf and small jar of jam in her arms.

"One last taste of home before I move to another."

"Maybe there's better bread where we're going," he suggested, guilt already seeping in before she cut it short by shoving a piece of bread into his mouth at the next red light. He was grateful that she waited until he wasn't driving.

The ride was quiet as they were only minutes outside the busy area and Cutter specifically remembered his wife's smirk when he licked some jam from her finger. It was then that headlights reflecting from his rearview mirror blinded him. He hadn't the chance to see the vehicle clearly until he was rammed from behind, felt a distinctive slam of his forehead against the steering wheel and heard the vase in the trunk smash into dust. After hearing Vera's blood curdling scream, something in him set off.

It all happened too fast.

"Hold on!"

It was all he remembered yelling as he screeched through traffic, squeezed through alleyways and bumped down staircases. The way he cut through lanes, cut past the packs of police cars and still managed to barely stay ahead of his assailant, it was no wonder he'd earn the name later – Cutter. Even so, his driving skills at the time weren't honed enough to avoid the inevitable, especially with precious cargo in the passenger seat.

He remembered the second long feeling of relief once he saw the signs marking the outskirts of the town. The relief being short lived when another vehicle flanked him, his tires skidding and the rubber burning off. When the Peen Hammer flipped over, he'd never tell anyone that he closed his eyes, not because he was afraid to die, but because he didn't want to see Vera's terrorized expression in their last moments.

It all went black - their smooth sailing to a change of scenery, it all went to hell.

* * *

"Give me your heel."

"W-what?"

"No time for backtalk. Give it to me."

Rayn's eyes hadn't quite adjusted to the darkness, and despite her determination to completely obliterate this unknown enemy of hers, she hoped Razer's eyes weren't adjusted enough to note the tremble in her hands. Without another moment's hesitation, she did as she was told. Not that the Crime Lord was handing commanding rights over anytime soon, but under the current and dire circumstances, it seemed the racer was more capable in this environment than she. She'd have to use that to her advantage, whether she liked it or not.

Backs flush against the cold concrete blocks, she felt like she was impossibly forcing herself into a sheet of paper to escape the onslaught of running officers and scrambling prisoners. Their only light source came from the continuous salvo of gunfire, the flickering being the type of light that best be avoided. At this point, Rayn Krew was unsure of who was who, officers revealing themselves to be crooked and criminals revealing themselves as men of justice amidst the bloody chaos, and there was no telling if her assailant would be clad in prison wear or guard uniform.

When she handed him one of her pumps, she was reluctant to give the other. These shoes were five hundred orbs worth of leather, the buckles that crisscrossed over the pointed toe, carved from the armory of the Precursors themselves. Sure, mining in the temples for precious metals was an underhanded sort of business, desecrating holy grounds for the sake of rare and expensive handbags and sunglasses, but her feet weren't complaining one bit. And as dark as it was, where the hands in front of her were so easily swallowed, she wasn't sure if there were still there or had been hacked off, she felt her heart break when she heard the racer throw her beloved shoe down the hall.

"Let's move."

"Forgive me, Mar," Rayn whimpered as he led them away from the sound.

Razer was a crafty one. While he was scheming their escape on the spot, he took everything into account, like the fact that she was the only known person wearing heels on the entire premises and if he were to throw off their scent, the sound of her heel would do it.

The concrete under her toes was moist and cold. If she hadn't known better, she would have thought that she was stepping on the back of a reptilian behemoth. She restrained the ache in her knees that protested and urged her to curl up into a corner. The concrete always brought back too much.

The racer led her by elbow, at times, by wrist. The Crime Lord felt like she'd walked miles when she was already aware that it was only a few feet down the labyrinth.

"Where are we-"

Rayn sucked in sharply when she felt him yank her backwards. She must have waltzed on too far. Pulled into his chest, the woman could hear his hammering heart, and could feel the corner he must have saved her from.

"Shh. Stay. Still."

Although he hadn't asked, she might've stopped breathing too. The arm around her back was a comfort in the darkness, his chest on her ear threatening to lure her cheek.

"Did you find her yet?"

"Not yet. Joey just radioed in and said they might've heard her fall a few feet down."

_Guards. They had to be._

"Let's keep watch here. It's nearby the lift so they might come this way. We have others by the staircases."

Carefully, Razer tugged her away from the set of voices. He whispered so low, that if it hadn't been directly into her ear, she might have missed it.

"We're taking the stairs. The lift would have us as sitting ducks for target practice."

"Agreed."

They went into the opposite direction when a flash grenade went off, ringing her ears and blinding them both. Razer's body blanketed hers against a wall when she heard a presence charge at them. The racer must have met him head on because while she struggled to adjust her vision, she could hear the skirmish beside her. A heavy weight dropped to the floor after what could only be described as the sound of meat- the sound meat made when a cooking knife was stuck into the roast and had to be yanked out.

The Crime Lord prayed and when her vision came back just to be greeted by darkness again, surprisingly, the darkness was a relief to her now throbbing head. She gasped when Razer snatched her wrist.

"Your hands are wet."

"Sorry. Had to get a bit dirty. I'm glad I wasn't wearing my trench coat or I _really_ would have made him pay."

"I'm not sure if I find that train of thought dangerously charming?"

Pitch black or not, she knew he must have smiled.

* * *

"Stop here."

The racer's smile dissipated quickly once they reached the staircase. There was a scuffle going about in front. Two officers were wrestling in a death match; their punches into jaw and gut as noticeable as a beat box. Due to many experiences with the unpleasant and inconvenient, Razer was accustomed to the darkness. When the lights went _kaput_, the man had no trouble adjusting. It was a rule of survival. Adjust and adapt to your surroundings. It was a skill he'd learned from his experience bumping off people for the Boss. While the _Capo's _contracted executions were mostly taken care of on the road and guised as casual collisions, there were times where last minute changes were necessary and things had to get up close and _personal_.

"What's going on?" Rayn asked behind him, her hands clawing at his back to get a better view.

"Congratulations, Krew. It seems your head is worth enough to throw the entire prison into chaos."

"Oh well, a couple o' chaps fighting over me. A girl gets used to it."

He was surprised, and maybe even slightly impressed when he felt the woman hand him a gun that must've slid amidst the struggle up ahead.

"I know you're not a fan, but just in case."

A red emergency light highlighted their exit, but with the tussle acting as an obstacle, it would be difficult to get by unnoticed. The racer was about to calculate his next steps so that he would not be late for his little business rendezvous when he felt the Crime Lord slip in front.

"Be my eyes," she ordered, revealing that her beloved garter pistol came with a silencer. If that was what was in her bra, then Razer _had_ to ask if her leftover heel came with any upgrades later. The man felt her rest against his chest and he leveled his height with hers to improve accuracy.

"Eleven o' clock," he snapped, the first bullet fired soundlessly into the officer's skull before the other even knew what happened. It took a moment for the survivor to understand and within seconds, he searched frantically for his own weapon before Krew finished it without Razer's help. As they crept past the bodies, Razer could not help but give the woman her well-deserved compliment.

"Impressive."

"I have my father's trigger finger."

Up the stairs they went, Razer equipped with shiv and gun, Rayn at his six with her pistol. After ascending halfway, he thought they were out of the woods when he spotted a line of inmates chatting away. This - would be a problem.

"Hmm, I wonder who they're more likely to go after, you or me?"

"Are you suggesting a bait method?"

"Just a thought."

"Too risky."

Although what he _meant_ to say, was that he knew they'd go after her. As to _why_ he knew that, he could not disclose.

Razer was now, what some would call, the _Caporegime_ of the Mizo family. And if he didn't put the Family's interests first, then no one else would. Sure, he might have made some _slight _modifications after Blitz's death, but nonetheless, he'd keep the Family prosperous.

Suddenly the entire staircase rumbled. It had probably caught Rayn off guard for she yelled, causing the inmates above to burst into action. A few shots rang, ricocheting off the concrete walls and adding to the falling debris from the ceiling.

"What in _blooming_ hell-"

Managing a grin, the racer announced, "It seems that my uninvited guests are crashing the party just in time."

And that meant his plan was in full effect. The rendezvous point should have only been a few meters, where the hand off would be made, and the future of the Combat Racing Franchise and the Mizo's, secured for life.

"What?"

Razer didn't answer. He fired back, caught one in the ribs, and Rayn picked up where he left off. When she was on the last bullet in her barrel, and believe it, the Champion had kept count, the man made use of his shiv when it whistled through the air into their offender's trachea. It wasn't his stiletto knife, but it served its purpose well. Razer gave a silent prayer to the damned Bane as he yanked his handiwork from the corpse and moved onward. Any questions the Crime Lord previously had, she must've forgotten after the gunfire exchange.

"W-where are we headed?"

Rayn pushed and Razer did what he did best. Elude.

"Out."

It wasn't _entirely_ a lie, so he'd forgive himself enough to get a good night's sleep tonight.

His borrowed gun discarded once empty and his shiv already slippery from his prior encounter, they had to make their way cleanly. After a few twists down the hall, he reached for the Heiress to confirm that she was still at his heels. When they'd found a maintenance stairwell that led back downward, it was then that the Crime Lord was beginning to become suspicious, and rightfully so.

"Why are we going back down again?"

"I'm just trying to find the exit. I can see well in the dark, but I'm _not_ a Goddamned bat."

"Well, if we're on a cliff and the doors are all a few levels up, wouldn't it be _wise_ to possibly umm- go _up_?"

"So we can bask in the sunlight from the windows before we've been made into _Allgäuer Emmentaler_?"

"_Unless_ you can summon a shovel, I don't see any better routes-"

Razer hushed her. He was seconds away from regretting his earlier decision of not claiming the bounty on her head when she was most vulnerable. It would have been easy as pie when she was quivering against him only minutes ago. He could have put the Princess out of her misery. It was unfortunate that the reward was halved if he arrived with a carcass and aside from that, he might really end up missing the way she made his morning coffee.

Whatever she had stirred into their brew this morning, it might've been the best cup he'd ever had.

"Least I can do before her Majesty's pleasure detains you. Enjoy."

He had slid the plates of breakfast across the counter, the meal out of place due to the sun not up yet, but all the more nutrients for the events that would play out.

"I prefer it black," was all he said, regardless of the smirk displaying his approval, he was persistent in feigning otherwise.

The frustration frayed at their nerves, tested their patience and threatened their teamwork. It was obvious that their wrangling at this point could turn deadly for the both of them. Keen on his desire to live and leave in one piece, the racer huffed and continued down the stairwell. Unless she had a pair of night vision goggles, she'd have no choice, but to pursue him.

It was when they reached the steel door, barred and signed with yellow and black stripes, that the Crime Lord had lost her patience first. Razer didn't have to turn to know that her gun was pointed at his back.

Surrendering, he waved his arms up and jested, "I see_ someone _hates not having the last word."

"Where _is_ this, Razer? I'm _not_ off my trolley. For someone who's never been incarcerated in Butcheree Cliffs, you sure know your way around."

"Miss Krew, why would you think that?"

"Because it's become blatantly _obvious_ that this maintenance route isn't exactly public knowledge. Unless you have 'janitor' listed under the career section of your rap sheet, I'd suggest you start singing."

The criminal paused to sift through his thoughts. While she only had one bullet to her name, one would be all she needed at this range. Bed and breakfast or not, the racer would be nothing short of an idiot if he believed she wouldn't put it to use if the situation called for it. Somehow, he'd have to distract her long enough, just enough to find an opening.

"I'm hurt, Rayn. Have you no trust in me? After I've already saved your royal ass more than once since we've been here?"

"Stop pissing around. I'm _not_ falling for it."

_Ah, so that tactic wouldn't work. And yet, she still hasn't pulled the trigger…_

"I'm no rat. I'd rather die than sing."

"Fine. Have it your way."

"Good luck making it out on your own."

"I'm sure that I can manage-"

It was only a second before the man had spun to the left, his arm acting as the distance that would shove her gun towards the wall while the other came clamping for her neck. After successfully grappling the weapon from her, he slipped behind, his forearm pinning her windpipe with the bloody shiv he'd used on the officer.

"Guess my rusty shiv is faster than your gun," he laughed.

Rayn snarled. He felt a forceful heel kick against his shin that was most painful even without footwear and squeezed her neck tighter as warning. Restraining her gagging, the Crime Lord relaxed and relinquished. Just to mock her, he planted her sole pump that was left unused at her feet. She didn't move to follow its sound.

She was astoundingly silent. If Razer didn't know better, he would guess that she was plotting. Only one with proper training would know that under these conditions, the best way to act is calm, to not provoke the assailant. Then again, he was qualified in defense and offense as well, and knew that only an amateur would hold a blade away from her neck. The weapon was pronounced against the bulb of her throat. One wrong movement, and she'd bleed herself out without any effort from him.

There was no resistance when he warily slid the pistol down her thigh and up the slit of her skirt, right into the garter where she hid it. After it was secure on her leg, he gave it a pat and whispered huskily into her ear, "What's wrong, Krew? Lost all hope already?"

"I'm not worried," she boasted although he was sure that the woman must have been sweating a bucket's worth.

Close enough to her face to brush his lips against her cheek; He gave her one last morsel to chew before it all began.

"You should have shot me when you had the chance. Your hesitation may be the end of you."

Finally, they'd reached the climax.

He used his right leg to kick the door. Three stomps and the door unhinged, light blinding them both as he stepped inside, the Krew Heiress as his hostage. When he threw her to the ground before she could decipher her surroundings, Razer had no regrets- except for maybe, the morning's brew of coffee.

As he was relieved of his shiv by the pair of heavies that approached him, he focused on the woman who squinted, looked up and matched gazes with a man that she may not have been too thrilled to see.

"Hello, nuzzle buddy. I apologize that I could not prepare a warmer reception, but I was _so _eager to see you again, Raynie."

He'd only seen her eyes light once, when he had rammed her against the lockers in their face-off from the arranged match with Cutter. And now when she was face to face with a man he'd made a rather appealing proposition with some time ago.

Her eyes were so wide, they could have fallen out. In two defined, and clear words, she spoke.

"James. McSweeney."

* * *

The cliffs were just as the rumors said – merciless. Even with climbing gear, the task was near impossible and if it weren't for the distraction from Shiv's head on assault and Edje's well-placed explosives, there was no doubt in his mind that they would have been shot down before they'd even climbed a foot.

His team lagged behind, but Cutter maintained his cautious pace with vigorous determination. His personal vendetta serving as his fuel, the racer mounted each pointed rock just the way anyone would expect from an Icelander. Without the blistering winds and occasional avalanches, ascending up Butcheree was about as easy as taking a strenuous stroll – one of the sole reasons he was assigned this mission in the first place.

"This can't be good," mumbled the closest member of his team, a former Krew employee.

The guy didn't talk very much, but judging from the handful of lines he'd managed to overhear on their way up, it was obvious that he was one hell of a pessimist. Concerning vehicles, Edje was usually looked to as the explosives expert, but in cases such as these, guerilla operations required much more precision, a different kind of mindset. And while this guy, Grimm was his name, didn't seem any less reckless than his comrade, Razer had assured that he once belonged to a top-notch demo team and cynical or not, he'd get the job done.

"We're almost there," Cutter announced, the few times he would bother to socialize if only it would put his team at ease. Not because he cared, but because he didn't want them to jeopardize any chances he had of paying his old friend a well overdue visit.

When they all gathered at a small plateau, Grimm quickly got to work. In the meantime, Cutter sought an update.

"Charlie, Entry, what's your status?"

Shiv came through, "Super Nova's got one reset left. We're gonna shift to Homing Missiles and take out their watch towers before we pull our vanishing act. The smoke screen should keep 'em curious enough to pursue."

"How long until the magic happens?"

"I can give you three minutes."

Edje came crackling in. "Make that five, Bravo. After Entry's homing missiles hit home, my team's got a couple of Skullsplitters to keep 'em hopping for a song."

"All right. Five is all I need. Cutter out."

"Yeah!" There was a cheer from the normally morbid explosives engineer once it went off.

The earth shuddered, wrenched at their ankles like a pair of hands that threatened to drag them down to the pits of hell. The detonation was quick, and due to steep topography, not as clean as Cutter had hoped.

"The entrance is failing!" Grimm warned and before the hole that led into the lower levels of the prison had collapsed irreversibly, Cutter made a mad dash for it.

His walkie abandoned in the rubble and his team doing what most would do in the face of falling debris the size of houses, fleeing, when the dust had settled and the last of the Skullsplitters could scarcely be heard, the racer was nowhere in sight.

"Come in, Bravo. We're retreating now and shifting to short-range projectiles. Over."

With an incurable tremor in his hands, Grimm snatched up the electronic and answered, "The detonation is complete, our leader ran headfirst into the crumbling cliffs and without means of contact. Over."

Before Shiv could respond, the least patient of Mizo's most loyal men took the words straight out of his mouth. Edje was so loud, even amidst the gunshot and battle cries; Grimm had to pull his ear away.

"What the hell- He'd better be alive or Boss is gonna kick his ass!"

Grimm was beginning to descend back downward when he heard the radio cackle with one remaining remark from Entry team's leader.

"That's if he doesn't kiss _our _asses first. Let's make that magic happen and fast. Shiv out."

* * *

"James. McSweeney."

As the words left her, the last syllable lost itself. It had only been about three years and yet, the face before her was straight from a dream. Speaking of dreams, Rayn Krew might have blinked once or twice to make sure her eyes were not deceiving her.

"Raynie. I'm so glad you could make it. I do hope your escort was gentle with you?"

She watched as the two men regarded one another and without many more details, it was safe to assume that Razer and James had cracked some sort of negotiation some time ago. The shared nod was not one between recent strangers. Narrowing her eyes at the Champion who was wonderful enough to lead - or wait, the proper term was shove - her into this dark and dank room in the middle of who knows where, the shock of being face to face with her former fiancé is what distracted her murderous gaze.

_I'll deal with you later, Nancy boy._

"What is the meaning of this?"

Taming his cronies with his arms, James appeared quite relaxed. Some distance behind him, Rayn could make out the shadow of a familiar fortress, one whom she knew as Officer Ruiz.

"Why if it isn't officer Ruiz? You wouldn't have tripped over any power outlets by any chance, would you?" she quipped.

Ruiz's amusement was all the answer she needed. By the arch in Razer's brow, it seemed he was not in on this little secret. Like fiddles, Ruiz had played them both.

_I guess now we know who Mr. Insider is… _

When James smiled at her, he had a particular dimple that she still remembered.

"Relax, Rayn. I just want to talk. We have much to catch up on."

With no immediate threat present, the Heiress took the opportunity to stand and brush herself off. "You know James, you could have just rung me up?"

"A woman as busy as you was nearly impossible to find. First Haven, then boarding school, finally Kras, I really had no idea how to get a hold of you."

"I admit it. I do a fine job moving about and maintaining secrecy."

After all, it had taken until the last racing season for Mizo to discover that his long deceased rival had produced a daughter who arrived just in time to snatch from him what he loved most. As if reading her very mind, Razer cleared his throat to agree.

"And so here we are Raynie."

"After three years of not knowing whether you were alive or packaged neatly inside a meat shop, are you expecting that I run over to you and coddle?"

"You know I had no choice-"

"You're right. Murderers who commit their crimes in front of a civilian audience don't _have_ a choice. Coming from a renowned family of assassins, you would have thought that Floyd had instilled that sort of common sense into you."

The tension thickened between them. After a pause, the fighter motioned towards her, the light blue dress shirt adding contrast to his dark eyes. If it weren't for her recent, ahem, encounter from the night before, Rayn might have actually teared up at the sight of him. He was still just as handsome, an added scar or two made no difference, his shoulders broader than she last remembered, a witness to the time he'd spent hidden from her. She loved him once, but he'd taken their dreams and shattered them before they could come to fruition.

"Any road, listen. I don't want to get into that- it has passed already-"

"You killed him, James! Smacked his skull into a brick wall with the ease of cracking open an egg shell and I had the unfortunate honor of getting a front row seat!"

She could almost taste it now - the iron in her mouth and how hot the concrete felt when Theodore Fratto's blood had pooled around her sneakers. Before her knees could wobble, the woman breathed in deeply and regained control. If only she had a pair of shoes to stand as a barrier between the bare soles of her feet and the warming asphalt beneath them.

McSweeney gave way to an audible huff as well. Sensing that she had calmed, he continued to close in.

"Raynie," he said, low and with an attempt to sound sincere, "I'm sorry that things ended the way that they did. It was my fault, but I'm back now-"

He offered a hand and the Crime Lord declined it. "Back for what, I wonder. Shall we get to the point now that we're up to date?"

The two matched gazes. The stare down, an agonizing eternity with the combination of heat the woman felt as Razer observed, and her last love and trauma staring almost right through her, searching for someone in her that she'd long forgotten.

With the snap of his fingers, James proceeded to command his henchmen.

"Before we proceed, for my safety and for yours, I hope you don't mind a brief pat down. I apologize in advance. I don't usually have any women on my staff-"

"Keep your formalities," the Crime Lord swatted and before anyone could get their grubby hands on her, the woman shrugged her blouse off easily in one suave movement. Upon revealing her chest, scar or no scar, clad in black and bronze embroidered lingerie, the lady was still a filet over a tank of piranhas and McSweeney motioned to stop her.

"Wait-"

"Allow me to make things easier for us all. You. Hold this." Without waiting for any of the men to answer, she practically threw her shirt into Ruiz's face – not that he complained much. "A moment while I tend to my skirt-"

"Rayn!"

"Yes, James?"

"Blimey, have you no decency?"

"_Oh?_ Did I spoil your chance to scrump me of it? I do apologize."

There was a chuckle that she surmised was from the Champion in the corner lighting a borrowed smoke and when she was hand on knee and skirt up thigh, her former fiancé submitted.

"Okay. Okay. Never mind."

_That's right, Love. Envy was your undoing._

She could hear the strain in his voice and whether she showed it or not, the Heiress was quite pleased with herself. As his left bodyguard helplessly stared, her hand drawn to her garter as she removed her pistol, James looked ready to gut him alive. The Heiress smiled.

"There. Unarmed and harmless."

When James caught the connecting glances between his former lover and his new business cohort, he asked, "Was she this much trouble for you?"

Razer opened his mouth to answer, and instead, decided against it.

His patience tested, James McSweeney snatched the blouse from the unfortunate Officer that would have to deal with him later and parachuted it over her shoulders. Fortress or not, McSweeney was always known to break the impenetrable. She allowed him to cover her. After all, there was more than one man in the room that she wanted to toy with. The fighter noted the bruising over her sternum, ones that were residue from anything, but injury, and kept his composure by clearing his throat. Rayn faced him head on, daring him to take that red face of his and look her in the eye.

"Let's cut to the chase, shall we?"

"Please do. I'm feeling right knackered." Rayn commented and motioned for a chair without fear. If anyone moved to stop her, no one dared. "Tell me, James, what have you been on about?"

* * *

Razer had to admit. He was mildly surprised. At this point, he expected his quaint little hostage to go mad, reaching for sharp objects and most likely aiming to mine the emerald from his eye sockets. And yet, she was completely unruffled after the initial shock. In fact, her unperturbed manner, despite being in the midst of clear betrayal and blatant hazard to her life, may have been what was the most frightening facet of her personality.

"There. Unarmed and harmless."

It took everything in him to keep from smirking although he couldn't help the second long glance he shared with her.

"Was she this much trouble for you?"

McSweeney was quick to accuse it seemed and judging from the satisfied look on Krew's face, it was evident that she was using this to her advantage. The moment he asked him that question, the racer recalled two things - the gun she had to his back moments ago and the night before where her wrists were willfully pinned under his hands against his pillows. It was the second recollection that kept him from answering. Mouths were funny things at time, just like guns, they go off without intentionally pulling the trigger.

As soon as the Krew Heiress mentioned something about knackered, the racer was about ready to tune the rest of the conversation out. After all, she was now amongst her own and Razer had no doubt in his mind that he wouldn't get half of what they were saying anyway, even if he did bother.

"As you know, Razer is renowned for his elite combat racing abilities, and was a former second to one of the most notorious families that had ever lived."

"It's too bad _that_ era's over."

Razer let that one of hers slide. McSweeney continued.

"And I have returned for some time now. I've set my roots in Kras and with the recent war between Krew and Mizo settled, I've come to Razer with a once in a lifetime proposition - to revive the Mizo clan by allying with the most nefarious family of assassins from across the seas. It makes perfect sense, blood and sweat, two different trades and yet, they accomplish similar goals."

The princess shrunk back a little, as if she'd just tasted something sour. "And where, pray tell, does this leave me?"

McSweeney had the audacity to approach her again, as if his first scalding hadn't taught him a lesson. When he reached for her hands, Razer waited for her spasm and found he was left idle. When he looked up from the inhale of his smoke, he realized that the very woman he had woke up to this morning, appeared comfortable joining hands with his new colleague.

The Kras City Champion absolved the fire in his chest as heartburn.

_The coffee. Has to be that coffee of hers…_

"Do you remember how it was years ago, Raynie? When we first met?"

She sighed, slipping back into reminiscence most likely.

"To our fathers, we were their golden protégé - weapons and artillery, mixed martial arts as one. With two distinct locations, an ocean between, it was the deal of the century. But that's not what you had in mind when you came that night, right, Raynie? What piqued your interest that very first fight and what kept you coming back?"

"It was the thrill of sneaking off campus into dark lots that smelled of cheap rum and stolen fags? The excitement in watching a couple of shirtless blokes swap fists? What can I say, I was a youthful rebel?"

McSweeney questioned with his eyes and Krew appeared sold.

"Was that all?"

The boxer fished and the line pulled with his catch. Rayn turned away shyly.

"And I suppose I might've went to see you. Maybe."

"And you did. We might've convinced our families with the appeal of a contract in trades, but that's not where it started, right?"

She nodded. The criminal, still clad in his prison garb struggled to restrain his gag reflex. He blinked, pondering when the room would go monochrome and wondered which role he'd be playing in this shot right out of a Noir film.

"We can be that way again, Rayn Krew, you and I. And together with my new business partner, we can rule over three trades. We can be the largest and most intimidating Syndicate in existence. And with your cousin's release date arriving soon, he won't be a threat now that you have a husband taking over the family. There will be no legitimacy in taking the Krew name from you if you're married."

What happened next, Razer hadn't foreseen. He was never even close. The cigarette barely an inch from his mouth, he hadn't realized he'd been staring until it was halfway over, and he shoved his gaze to the floor.

McSweeney was lured into a kiss that was accepted as wholeheartedly as Krew gave it. On her lap, was a small velvet box, most likely a belated apology gift?

Razer hadn't counted on his bounty to flop and join forces. Out of the three Bosses in the room, including himself, only two should walk out alive. James McSweeney failed to mention this little marriage clause in their previous negotiations as well as Officer Ruiz's involvement. From the looks of it, there were one too many details left out of the fine print and Razer was not fond of surprises. Things might have been taking a turn for the worse, and at this point in his strategy, he'd be forced to make some last minute adjustments. Just as he was about to interrupt their love fest and improvise, it came to a quick end.

When they broke away, Rayn Krew, Heiress to the Krew family and rightfully chosen, cast down her wrath.

"Let me get this straight. With my family at war with the Mizo's, rather than helping me earlier, the woman whom you want nothing more than to love and cherish for the rest of your life, you acted like a big girl's blouse and hid until the playground was clear."

She thrust the small velvet box back into McSweeney's chest as she continued to rip at him.

"When only the nesh kids were left, you've come to claim the swings when it's safest, in order to save both your and Mizo's dying breed? And to prevent the waste of burying my pretty corpse somewhere into the Dirt Stadium, you've decided to spare me with an option of being your trophy wife as I serve you and this _pompous_ fool on the sidelines?

Brilliant, James! Bloody ace, if I say so myself!"

When he saw all the blood rush to his colleague's face, Razer snubbed the cigarette with his heel and bared his fangs.

* * *

"If I were you, Miss Krew, I'd think carefully before turning down any negotiations."

It was the first time Razer had spoken to her ever since he rolled her into this dump. Frankly, she had no care for it.

"Never said I wasn't open to negotiations, just not this one."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. That is so."

"Well then, Rayn, how can we change this deal to your liking? Perhaps, we can work something out," James intercepted, wary of Razer as he closed in.

"Well, there are two problems. First problem: You acting as a business cohort? Rubbish. You were always a loner with your own agenda. Even after all these years, I'm more than confident that that hasn't changed.

And besides, if any trades should be aligned, combat racing would do well with weapons and artillery. I don't believe the drivers are in need of bodyguards. It's unnecessary, superfluous, and all in all, just excuses to find a cubbyhole of your own to crawl into until things are back into place with the McSweeney family.

As for Johan's release, I will see to it that he's taken care of myself."

"Now hold on-"

"Two: This marriage clause. I _refuse_ to be regarded as your lackey and besides," Rayn cast an intentional glance over to Razer, "I think I've finally decided. Racers _are_ better than boxers. If I _were_ to marry, I feel a combat racer would suit me best."

When Razer could no longer contain his laughter, James threw an accusing finger.

"What the _hell_ is she talking about, Razer?"

Shrugging with the nonchalance that made him both trifling and charming, he replied, "Aside from our business partnership, my mission was to escort her to you. There were no restrictions entailed aside from not killing her before your reunion."

"What- wait, are you saying-"

"Business and pleasure do not mix, McSweeney. You can rest assured that whatever occurred between myself and Miss Krew will not interfere with your, ahem, _engagement_ plans."

As angry as she was at the Champion and as much as she wanted to painfully avenge her pride, the Heiress couldn't help, but laugh with him. Her fingers toyed with the lapel of her shirt, the one that had been loosely returned by McSweeney. The angry, red blotches down her sternum were given new meaning, an owner that she boldly suggested as she held eyes with Mizo's primary enforcer.

"Like I said, Razer, there will be _no_ engagement. That is final. And believe me, it has nothing to do with you. I just believe that if there is any position open for the racing franchise's head, one that knows the sport and can handle the finances and media exposure would fair better."

"Now you wait a _damn_ minute, Rayn," James cut in, shirt unbuttoned, and shoulders tense. It was obvious that he was torn on what to act on first, to kill her or his new business partner first.

Lucky her, she'd been chosen. He fisted the collar of her shirt, the one she hadn't yet buttoned as she sported it like a jacket. Anger setting fire in his eyes, he spat, "I've already lost patience with this. Decide now. Are you in for the marriage clause or not?"

The woman hummed, her toes seemingly drawing up to her ankle to tend to an itch when she mule kicked, grabbed, and caught McSweeney's face in a stumble with one swipe. When the fighter had staggered back and pieced together the blood on his face with the calculating grin on his ex-lover, his sugary act soured to vehemence.

"You- you cut me?" As if he could mistake the mess on his cheek for jam.

"Did I?"

"I take that as a no, then."

"A very bold, italicized, and underlined, _no_."

Still clutching his face, he motioned for Razer. "Get rid of her. We don't need her."

"What's the matter? Your hands are already dirty," he jested and the fighter snapped back, "Consider it proof of your loyalty."

There was a pause between them. As usual, Rayn Krew had no idea what Razer was thinking. The pause might've been hesitation, but after their little skirmish before he'd thrown her in here, she stopped underestimating him.

"Fine."

* * *

Razer approached her and she stood proud. As they matched gazes, she eyed him with the kind of defiance he expected and liked in her. He snapped an arm behind her back, and her wrist to reveal the box cutter she had the pleasure of engraving her memory into McSweeney with.

He recalled how fast it happened, how precisely she acted when she kicked, caught the blade that was taped beneath her foot and put it to swift use. Honestly, he was surprised. Never had he imagined that she was running around the penitentiary like that, such sharp objects embedded beneath the arches of her bare feet. If anything, it solved the mystery of the oddly placed scarring he noted from the night before.

"A box cutter, Miss Krew? Wherever did you hide such a thing?"

"I have my tricks," she hissed.

"I will grant you one last chance, Princess. Will you accept McSweeney's proposal?"

Just then, she'd spoken words that took him back. Back to when she first set foot on his property, back in the beginning before the entire fiasco started. The line brought a haughty smile to his face.

"Rayn Krew, Heiress of the Krew family, lives a life with no regrets."

Brushing her face with his palm, he searched her eyes that proved her words to be genuine. With resolve, the Champion nodded. It was time to claim his bounty.

"Well, it's unfortunate, Rayn, but I have to claim my bounty now. You see, the reward is quite high for your head."

"I do hope you enjoy your riches then. I will see you in hell."

Forcing the box cutter from her, the man held it loosely against the bulb of her neck, his submission on her, keeping her at bay. Rather than flailing or screaming, the woman closed her eyes, teeth biting down at her lip with an anger she'd take into her death and most likely haunt him with for the rest of his life. All memory of her heated skin against his resurfacing, he might have longed for different circumstances as he held her body against his own. Razer noted the satisfied grin on James McSweeney as he inched closer, eager for the VIP seat in Rayn Krew's execution.

"Miss Krew?"

"Yes, Razer?"

"I hope you don't mind me borrowing your-"

This was it. She clenched her eyes, and waited. Any second, she must have expected him to use the box cutter to slash across her neck, bleed her out before the world faded before her. Razer, like the gentleman he always was, was never one to leave a woman waiting.

"-heel."

* * *

"Yes, Razer?" Rayn answered, her eyes closed as she awaited her demise. She tried her hardest to avoid counting down all the things she'd miss about life. Her morning Chai, her sarcastic butler, Isaac, the Rapine that Razer may or may not have given to her, her fluffy bedroom carpet, her evening bath oils - all the small things that made the stress of crime life just a bit bearable.

"I hope you don't mind me borrowing your-"

This was the end. Regrettable, but an end she'd face head on with pride. She hoped that her execution would be one that would haunt the Champion forever, cast him from his wet sheets at night as he was torn between their recollections of entertaining banter, sex and death. In fact, she was determined it would be so. And as she cursed his name with every fiber of her being, she looked forward to seeing her parents again.

_I'm on my way, mum, daddy. I've missed you so…_

"-heel."

_What? Heel? Did I hear heel?_

When a sharp projectile whistled across the room and grazed McSweeney's ear to catch Officer Ruiz in the head before he crumpled onto the floor, the room went mute due to the shock. Rayn realized she was still breathing, the box cutter gone from her neck and the restraint on her loosened.

"Heel?"

Razer clarified, "Yes. Your heel came in handy."

When she blinked and pushed him for further explanation, he shrugged, "I'm sorry, Rayn," he returned her box cutter and winked, "The bounty on McSweeney is thrice as much as yours."

"Razer!" McSweeney growled, about to fly off the handle with complete disregard to the Officer's corpse lying behind him.

"_Serves him right,"_ Rayn thought as she dried the small bloody weapon between her fingers, revealing that she had another on her opposite foot.

Razer was now unarmed, taking an offensive position with his fists, an unusual move for the knife wielder. The Champion faced James, obviously threatened by the boxer and oblivious to the murderous intent that Rayn Krew still harbored, despite joining forces. Slipping her hands over his broad shoulders, she whispered evocatively, sure to catch McSweeney's attention as she lathered her breath over Razer's ear, "Should I assume that this is a temporary truce?"

"Temporary, yes. I'm growing sick of this hell hole."

"All right then. I'm just as eager for some sunshine, but one thing, Razer."

"Hmm?"

"I owe you _dearly_ for this unpleasant experience and I will warn you now, it won't be painless."

The woman slid her second box cutter by Razer's neck, where she could have just as easily filleted him as he'd almost done to her moments ago. Her hand itched. She still had not forgotten the way her knees scraped when he'd shoved her into the room, or the way he restrained her, shiv to her throat. Every ounce of blood boiled for her to get on with it, swipe the cutter like she'd swipe a credit card and deal with McSweeney afterwards.

Problem was, now that McSweeney was privy on the personal affairs between herself and the Kras City Champion and with the nasty cut she'd inflicted on his pretty face, odds were, there was no longer any room for sweetening him back up. Wielding only two box cutters, she'd have to cheat death to escape this sticky situation and if she wanted to make it out alive, she'd have to put a rain check on her revenge date with Razer and buddy up.

Acknowledging the hatred in her voice and how the tables have turned with her sparing his life, the racer nodded.

"I would expect nothing less, Princess."

Lowering the box cutter on his neck, she seemed to pause on sharing her small supply of weaponry before deciding against it, and drawing back. Her hand receded the way a magician sweeps away a deck of cards for dramatic effect. With one last warning in her eyes, he realized she was giving him a handicap by not offering her second box cutter that he so graciously returned.

With an inward shrug, he thought to himself, "Have always been one for a challenge." Their tension like gritting stained glass between their teeth, beautifully painful, the two turned to face their common adversary.

James McSweeney regarded them with animosity, half of his face darkened with blood.

"Kill them! Both!"

* * *

**Glossary**

Che Cavolo: Italian for WTF! (I love my made up Accardo Syndicate)**  
**

Her Majesty's Pleasure: When visiting England, try to avoid being detained at Her Majesty's pleasure. This means being put in prison with no release date!

_Allgäuer Emmentaler: _German cheese with huge holes in it

Scrump: To rob/steal

Nancy boy - If someone is being pathetic you would call them a nancy or a nancy boy. It is the opposite of being hard. For example in cold weather a nancy boy would dress up in a coat, hat, gloves and scarf and a hard guy would wear a t-shirt. It's also another word for a gay man.

Right Knackered: The morning after twenty pints and the curry, you'd probably feel knackered. Another way to describe it is to say you feel shagged. Basically worn out, good for nothing, tired out, knackered.

Fag: Cigarette (not the offensive kind, thank you)

Big girl's blouse - This is a nice way of saying someone is a wimp. It means someone is being pathetic.

Nesh: Another word with the same meaning as Nancy Boy/Big Girl's Blouse aka pathetic

* * *

**By the way, I get most of my British slang from effingpot(dot)com as well as some of the copied and pasted definitions.**

* * *

**A/N: Ah, so now we know more about James as well as Cutter. I'm sure all the dots are connecting…I hope. **

**So the action's gotten started here. Props to CaptainHilts for giving me a few tips on action scenes. This is only the tip of the iceberg so I think I managed to not totally ruin it this chapter, but the next one? Eek. No promises. **

**And the cliffie does its job here, I think. With the Cutter scenes elsewhere, the chapters should end now with that anticipation that's only right with these sorts of stories. I'm also hoping I didn't make Rayn awkward with her constant change of moods and alliances. One moment she's like, you're hot, then another, I'll kill you, then later, you're still hot but I'm still gonna kill you regardless? Yeah. Weird. **


	5. One

**One**

Razer could feel the crunch of saw dust beneath his feet and within seconds, his body flapped like a _Matador's muleta_, a pack of raging bulls stampeding towards him.

The hottest head charged him first and the racer had managed to knock him down with a clothesline. Either his acuity or his luck, were enough to divert the gun from firing right into his skull. Fighting bare handed with the odds against him would not fair well, and considering himself a man of many talents, this, clearly, was not one of them.

A shot fired, his ears rung, and amidst the throbbing, someone had landed a heavy fist to his gut.

"Son of a-"

He was fortunate to have dodged an elbow dangerously close to his temple before it went flying towards Krew. Within seconds, the woman had dropped, her leg fanning into a spin as she successfully knocked both the gunman and another with weak knees.

Two men remained while the other two confirmed that all limbs and innards were accounted for. McSweeney loomed in the distance, as if waiting for the right opening in which to reel his prey in.

"Looks like you're in need of some- assistance, Razer."

Rayn's haughtiness was short lived when the third of the henchmen had swiped her clean off the concrete, her flailing arms and fighting the restriction.

"_Who_ is in need-"

A fourth swung behind the Champion who wrestled his gun downward. It fired into the shoe of Rayn's captor, and thus, she was dropped instantly, the poor sap hopping into a tumble.

"-of assistance?"

"Stop faffing around you bunch of bumbling gits and get rid of 'em already!" James shouted, leaving Rayn free to grin as she met Razer back to back.

The four men surrounded them, and when the first dived right into Razer's headlock, the Krew Heiress took the opportunity to shove one of her box cutters right into his trachea. With an unpleasant gag followed by blood spray, Razer discarded the corpse to the side in preparation for the man seeking revenge for the bullet in his foot.

"Could have spared me a warning, Miss Krew."

"Oh? Have I spoiled your wardrobe?"

Rayn's momentary victory was her moment of weakness, and she was wide open for the punch and kick to her gut and jaw. Her second box cutter had fallen from her grasp and when she had scrambled to get a hold of it, a heel landed her fingers.

"Blinking- hell!"

Her scream heightened the adrenaline rush in the lieutenant and as he worked to out wrestle his injured opponent, another jabbed him right in his spine. Razer doubled over, using every ounce of concentration despite that his legs had turned to jelly, to divert his enemy's gun right into another goon's chest. The shot was muffled, two men were down, one injured and the last, deciding whether or not he felt lucky enough. It wasn't until a flurry of uppercuts stole the wind out of him, that the Champion realized McSweeney had made his entrance, tiresome of watching his men chase a carrot on a stick.

"This could have been your golden opportunity Razer. You have sent the Mizo's to their doom."

Razer answered with a propitious knee to his thigh. James cursed and the racer threw his weight forward, successfully driving them into a wall.

"You underestimate me, McSweeney. You _must _believe that I have more potential than that."

The two men rolled, trading punches and slander. While Rayn Krew gathered her bearings, McSweeney's leftover heavies sought to quench their thirst for blood by taking advantage of Razer's distraction with their boss.

"Looking for this, sweet cheeks?"

She growled venomously when the two yanked her by a handful of hair, teasing her with the very blade she was clambering for.

"As a matter of fact, yes. Now would you be so kind as to return it?"

"Not bleeding likely, Krew girl," the offender spat against her cheek. With a pair of faces not even mothers would love; they eased in on her, restraining her arms as they traced the scar on her chest with the salvaged blade. She bit down the pain as she tried to shake free with no success, her hands pinned, her head wrenched back and her body sore. From the looks of it, Razer's luck wasn't any better than hers.

James was gaining the upper hand. A fight like this was doddle to McSweeney despite the dirty and unfair tactics, and while Razer was proficient in close quarters combat, the element of surprise was not in his favor; he was unarmed, and with the condition he was in, it was not cutting him any breaks. The Mizo loyalist was doing a fine job keeping James busy, but at this rate, the boxer would seize the win and end it before the Champion could witness the final act.

Eager to put some distance between them, Razer kicked McSweeney away, the momentum sending him soaring across the room. Once on his feet, Razer used the spare seconds he had to clamp his vice grip on the man having a jolly time using Krew's chest as a coloring book and snapped his neck with a swift twist. Once Rayn realized that her grappler was startled, she kicked free and fell into Razer's arms.

"Miss me?"

"Hardly," she replied with a wheeze, comforting her stinging chest with the material of her blouse.

Just when things couldn't have gotten any worse, their only exit opened, the very same one he'd kicked earlier and thrown her into, to welcome an onslaught of fresh men. Five surrounded them, their intent to murder clear and James just about ready to gloat.

"This hardly looks promising," Rayn thought to herself.

Rayn was about to question whether or not she considered herself religious when an explosion shook the room, the ceiling shaking sand into their eyes as everyone ducked for cover. Their only doorway was lost in the rubble.

Through squinted eyes, she managed to spot her precious garter pistol, the one she had cast aside earlier during her strip tease, on the floor by the new hole blasted into the wall. With only one bullet left, she weighed the risks and whether or not the mad dash for this weapon was worth it. She must have lost herself in a daze for when she looked up again, she realized she'd done the vertical glare straight into a face that she was unsure of whether or not to be grateful for.

Feeling Razer stand and offer his arm to her, he coughed, managing a chuckle despite their injuries and now polluted airways.

"Cutter, my boy, you're late."

Stepping over the loose debris still falling from the ceiling, the racer casually rolled a used stick of dynamite into the room. Although his face was not clear, this was probably the first time Rayn had ever heard him sound so smug, and say so many words.

"Sorry, Boss. Can't be late to my own party."

* * *

When Cutter woke up from what he last remembered as his one-way trip overseas, aside from the immediate throbbing in almost every joint and muscle in his body, he noted that the view outside the window was a familiar one. In other words, while his intention was to drop out of touch and jump ship with his wife Vera as soon as possible, it was apparent that he had failed. And speaking of his wife, although she was the first face of a series of many faces that came rushing back into his memory upon awakening, his biggest fear was finding out what had happened to her.

Fear seized him and he wasn't sure what was broken yet, but he could feel his fingers clawing at the sheets as he wordlessly called for her.

"Vera…"

It must have been minutes, but felt like seconds when a barrage of doctors and police officers weighed over his hospital bed. Intervals of benign beeps and ticks eased him into awareness, the man already testing if his legs could move so that he could leave.

"Hello there, my good boy, I'm Doctor Thompson. How are you feeling? Do you know your name?"

"Donovan," he croaked in a voice that was not at all his own.

"Good, Donovan. Are you seeing all right? Can you follow this light for me?"

As if his new career plans being botched and having his Peen Hammer totaled wasn't enough trouble, now he had a group of Feds and white coats jamming lights into his eyes and prodding him with questions when he could barely feel if all his toes were accounted for.

"Do you know where you are?"

Glaring bloody murder at the officers that were either here to take him away or question him into insanity, he replied nastily, "In a crap ass hospital, now would you mind saving the memory check list for later and tell me what's broken doc?"

"Of course, of course. Let's be blunt, shall we? You've just come out of a nasty wreck, Donovan-"

"Yeah, no shit."

Amused by his patient, the doctor smiled, "A sense of humor is a good sign. Your name is not in today's obituary, mate, so rejoice! I won't brief you on the collision. That will be the copper's job over there.

As far as your condition, you've been out cold almost a week, with three fractured ribs, a broken right leg and a severe concussion. If the ambulance hadn't gotten to you sooner, surely you would have been warm beneath a 6-foot blanket of soil by now. You're a real Jammy bugger considering the circumstances."

"Lucky is right," he thought bitterly as he wondered why the McSweeney's hadn't come by to finish the job posing as overly muscled nurses. Although much was fuzzy, the license plates on the attacking vehicles were clear as day in his mind. This accident was no accident at all. He'd been called in by the Boss and in his attempt to avoid the call, his wife became collateral damage.

_James…_

Clearing his throat to a more recognizable tone, he finally asked what he was most afraid to, "And my wife? Is she-"

The hesitation from the Doc told all.

"She's alive, Donovan."

Vera had opened her eyes two weeks later. Cutter's spent his days vigorously rolling his wheelchair up and down the halls. The doctors all tried to stop him, but even with his injuries, it wasn't difficult to overpower them. As soon as his nurse announced that Vera was awake, nothing would keep the fighter from crawling to the next floor if he had no choice. Instead, a very familiar acquaintance offered to roll him upstairs.

"Mizo sends his condolences, Donovan. He also guarantees that once you're patched up, he will see to those extra clauses in your contract."

The famed racer, redolent of nicotine, remarked, his bright coat, a contrast with the stark and pale hospital ward.

It was when he was crossing over the bridge in his Peen Hammer one night, taking five after escaping the throng of cop cars chasing him from a shake down at the local grocery store. He had wondered who the owner of the Havoc was. It was the only vehicle apart from the police that successfully tailed him almost undetected. Judging by the way the Havoc slipped out of existence and re-appeared with precision around street corners that only natives should have known, Donovan had to come to the conclusion that this man _wanted_ to be seen by him. And as they both stopped at the light, Razer wasted little time in introducing himself.

"That was a clean escape, Cutter, even for an amateur," Razer casually informed him.

"Excuse me?"

Cutter is what he called him. "It suits you."

"If you say so."

He laughed as he lit a cigarette, "Not one for conversation, I see. I'll keep it brief. My Boss and I are making a casual visit, and while we're not actively recruiting, I've noticed your license plate numbers all over police radios."

"Can't be right. I never keep the same license plate for more than a day."

"I'm aware of this, but your driving is what gave it all away. You can keep law enforcement guessing, but you can't fool a veteran."

"Who are you again?"

"You can call me Razer, my friend."

Before the mysterious man could divulge on further details, sirens wailed in the distance. The two men matched gazes as if thinking the same thought simultaneously and with a competitive air about them, they floored it, leaving a trail of smoke in their wake.

He had a couple of drinks at the local pub with the Champion and before he knew it, it was this man that had him wondering if martial arts was where he wanted to stay. After taking to an international trip to see Combat Racing in it's liveliest form, in person, Donovan was sold, if it hadn't been for his previous loyalty to James McSweeney.

It was strange. Never had he thought he'd be getting wheeled around by this man like some cookie baking grandmother, but then again, he'd never imagined ending up in the hospital in the first place. With the way the doctor had described Vera's condition, he was beginning to doubt if he'd been better off dead.

He fucked up. Big time. And he didn't mean his last fight, he meant his escape- it wasn't as clean as it should have been. He half expected Razer to call him out on it, but was happy that the Mizo enforcer knew when to leave things unsaid.

Razer exchanged nods with the Feds in his room, Donovan looking to him questionably.

"Relax. They're with us."

"I see, that explains why my IV hasn't been swapped with Clorox yet."

"Safety first."

Donovan hummed, this coming from the man who drove people off the roads for a living.

His injuries wouldn't interfere with his driving ability, nor his determination. And now more than ever, it wouldn't interfere with him running as if hell was on his heels. As soon as the doc cleared him, Razer assured that a private vessel would be waiting at the docks.

"I know I'm not bad at driving, but why is Mizo going through such lengths to bring me over?"

"Hmm, call it Mizo's cunning sense for irreplaceable men of talent."

Donovan was no fool. He shouldn't have survived that crash and the fact that he did, probably made Mizo foam at the mouth with all the possibilities he'd get in television ratings.

As they wheeled towards the doorway to Vera's room, as if sensing his inner turmoil, Razer stopped him right before the entrance.

"I'm going down for a smoke."

Another trait of his future lieutenant that he would soon learn to appreciate and respect, Razer knew when to scat.

As if on cue, his doctor exited Vera's room, a gloomy expression that he instantly tried to correct once he noticed the fighter's presence.

"Donovan, feeling well enough to go about the hospital, I see."

"How is she, doc?"

"She's been asking for you."

"How _is_ she, _I asked_."

Wheelchair or not, Donovan's expertise still lied in intimidation.

The doctor sighed, knowing that he could no longer delay the inevitable. "She's been fussy all morning and aside from her head trauma, she's healing up fine - _physically_."

He placed a hand over Donovan's shoulder and met him at eye level, "Do you recall what we discussed, about worst case scenarios when she woke up?"

With a slow nod, he could already feel something tighten his throat as he swallowed.

"I'm sorry, Donovan. It turns out that we _are_ facing a worst case scenario."

"Stop beating 'round the bush already. What's wrong with her?"

"She's- showing signs of a rare neurological disorder. I can't discuss it in the hallway, but I can't stop you from going in there. I will warn you ahead of time though, chum, it'll be difficult. She- she might not recognize you."

"What?"

His voice was so shrill it made the physician jump. "She might not know you, mate. All her memories are intact, but as for her recognition of people- " The doctor continued to struggle with the bad news, "Please consider following me back to your room. We can chat more there."

Donovan stared at her room number for what felt like an eternity. It must have been a while for when he turned to roll himself back towards the elevator, Razer was just getting off, taking the hint and re-entering with him wordlessly.

The next day, one of Mizo's muscles arrived with a special request of his. The doctor was against the idea, claiming that it was theoretical and there was no guarantee that it would help any. As her husband, he should accept her condition and heal over time in family therapy. He hadn't time for that crap and unless he wanted to test how fast Mizo could change his mind or James would send out his entourage for a second try, he would be better off getting them out as fast as their bodies willed them.

Truth was, while he said it was all for her sake, it was really for him. He was a coward, but his longing for her was so bad, he would rather try this then never face her again. It would be his life-long punishment, for failing to protect the woman he loved.

The mask was a perfect fit and if the hospital staff wasn't disturbed by his presence before, _now_ they were openly terrified. His nurses took his blood pressure and changed IV's in record breaking times, meals were slid onto his table as if it was done by a nimble assassin on a covert mission and the only one that had bothered to look him in the eye was Doctor Thompson.

He had managed to walk on crutches to his wife's room when Razer was waiting by the doorway.

"Donovan. I see that you received that order of yours."

Adjusting the wooden mask on his face, he nodded, "Yeah, thanks."

Razer hummed, about to leave when Donovan called back before he was about to enter Vera's room for the first time in weeks.

"And it's Cutter."

"Hmm?"

"Name's Cutter. Donovan's already gone from this world."

"All right, Cutter. I will come again tomorrow."

* * *

"Is that- why is _he _here?"

Rayn coughed, clinging to Razer's shoulders as she stabilized her footing. The dust settled and the explosion had knocked everyone to his or her feet. Two were killed from the blast, leaving four to defend their boss. Disoriented, the men shook their heads, eyeing the new guest and becoming hostile as they realized he was not one of their own.

Tired of being kept in the dark, she slapped the Champion's arm, "What in blooming hell is he doing here? How did he know where to find us?"

Razer snickered, "Lucky guess, I suppose."

"Liar," she accused, releasing her hold on him and regaining her dignity. "Your hoary excuses are failing to please me."

By now, it had become obvious that this had been planned. Maybe not detail for detail judging by the injuries that Razer sustained, but enough to a point that the racer had foreseen the awry results and had assigned Cutter's arrival to the scene. The woman was too confused to know what to ask first.

At what point was Razer's plan in effect? When and how long ago had he made this deal with McSweeney to bring her in? And who was offering the bounty on McSweeney that was supposedly thrice the one on her head?

Was the McSweeney negotiation the sole reason he hadn't killed her all this time? Or had some other emotions been factored in? Had those tests he'd given her with his team been an indirect warning for her, or just a test of her worthiness for the deeds? And if not McSweeney, was there another threat that he'd been preparing for instead?

What bothered her most was if her survival after the reunion was calculated from the get go or if it was just an unexpected perk. By the surprise on Cutter's face when he saw her, the Crime Lord surmised that she was an extra. Razer might have originally planned to walk out with McSweeney and bump him off elsewhere after she'd been iced.

There was no way she'd ever know though, not unless Razer confessed.

"This is no time for interrogation," Rayn scolded herself. Razer had found the blade that was taken from her and with a simple flick of his wrist; he skillfully caught one in the eye. It wouldn't kill him, but it would effectively disable.

"Razer!" James growled, stepping through the debris before he was conscious of Cutter's presence.

The racer extended his hand to her. "I know this must be exciting, Miss Krew, but I'm afraid we've outstayed our welcome. Shall we get going?"

Right now, she had two options. Stay and deal with James and his party of three, or risk leaving with the man that had tried to kill or not kill her more than once within the past few days. It didn't take a mathematician for Rayn to conclude that one was better than four.

"Yes, my complexion is starved for some vitamin D. Let us go, but first, I have to leave my precious James with one last memory."

She turned to her ex-lover as she joined hands with the Kras City Champion, the man that he'd supposedly cracked the deal of a lifetime with before the betrayal, and James regarded the pair with loathing.

"You won't leave here alive, Raynie. If I don't get you now, believe me, I'm known for getting the job done."

Just then, an answer came from an unexpected source. Cutter had removed the mask he'd worn for years and to her astonishment, he might have had the most endearing face in the room. The brunette had hair rival to Razer's mop of silky brilliance, a capable glint in his eyes and to add to Krew's shock, a straight set of teeth, counting the gold filler on his canine.

"That isn't exactly true. I'm living proof of that."

As if he was being confronted with a ghost, James McSweeney stumbled a step backward, "D- Donovan?"

"Let's make our hasty exit, Rayn," Razer warned.

"Yes, lets!"

They ran towards the hole created from the explosion and while they weren't sure where it led, anywhere had to be better than here. On the way, Rayn made use of an old habit.

_Cor blimey, lift your chin girl. You're a daughter of Krew, ey._

She could almost feel her father's thick finger tap her chin upward and the woman smiled to herself.

_Sorry, father. Never know what you might step over if you're not looking._

She picked up the gun she'd been eyeing before sparing a glance at James to flip him the bird.

"Fuck you, James McSweeney."

"Beautifully put, princess."

Razer laughed as he tugged her along. The woman didn't bother looking back and the last she heard was Cutter's voice behind them.

"I thought I'd taken care of you, Donovan."

"The name's Cutter now. And I've come to repay you for that little parting gift seven years ago..."

* * *

At first, when he offered a hand, he expected Rayn to immediately swat it away, maybe aim a skillful knee to his crotch. He'd admit it. He deserved it.

Their hands were sticky with blood and their bodies, kicked around. The woman's chest heaved heavily as she stared at his fingers, nuzzling her blouse to her bleeding chest that would clot and stop within minutes as long as she hadn't strained herself too much. Unfortunately for her, they were in a predicament where strain was their only means of survival.

Honestly, she'd be a fool if she didn't take the chance. Anyone with a brain would rather run from here with a questionable ally than stay with a group of well-established enemies. Not only that, but if she had chosen to stay, then the racer might have to regret keeping her alive, because he almost hadn't planned on it. Almost.

From the get go, it was all up to her really. If she'd taken to McSweeney's offer and he had to tag along, he'd have no choice but to take out both bounties, twice the prize. If she rejected McSweeney, at least they could discuss the nature of their relationship at a safer and later date- business relationship that is.

When she squeezed his hand, Razer was proud that he'd slept with such an intelligent woman. Thank the Precursors that he hadn't screwed a noggin-less Flut-Flut. He would have hated to have some whiny damsel yanking at his pant legs in tears shouting, "Save me, please!" Great sex or not, he would have effortlessly cast her to the wolves before making a break for it.

"Fuck you, James McSweeney."

When she cussed so irately, something stirred inside the Champion and he had to remind himself that this was the wrong place and time.

"Beautifully put, princess."

When he tugged her into the cavity that was punctured by the detonation, he didn't stop her from retrieving her weapon. Even with one bullet, it might still have some use, even if she resorted to pistol whipping.

"I thought I'd taken care of you, Donovan."

_Tsk, tsk, James. You should always confirm your contracted executions…_

"The name's Cutter now. And I've come to repay you for that little parting gift seven years ago..."

They sped off, Godspeed. As he heard his associate's voice fade into the distance, the Champion smiled, recalling a series of pub visits across the ocean during a fateful vacation that would add one of the most valuable members to the Mizo racing team.

Cutter.

The fighter hadn't been so serious about it at first, but after the unfortunate accident with his wife, the man had left the hospital accompanied by Mizo cronies with a resolve in his stride more sanguinary than any of the mobsters walking beside him. Razer was never one to get emotionally involved in their members, but with their long history of dependable, what some might call, friendship, the lieutenant was elated to finally give Donovan a chance to fulfill his personal vendetta.

Five minutes into their run, they had once again been swallowed into total darkness. Lovely. He heard Rayn curse behind him and he took the moment to ease the growing ache in his chest. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, the distraction was more noticeable. It was beginning to become more frequent, more of an obstacle, and the Champion had to plan accordingly.

"Remind me to purchase a pair of night vision goggles. Perhaps they can be customized to fit in my purse."

"I highly doubt that, Miss Krew."

"Haven't you learned, Razer? I can make anything happen: blackmail my father's killer into racing for me, have my ex throw an entire prison into madness for my hand in marriage and now I am joining hands with my long time family archenemy as he leads our escape. At this point, I'm just counting the seconds until we see the Precursors themselves fly over to take us away."

He snickered, signaling for her silence as he listened for nearby assailants.

"Sounds as if the coast is clear for now," she whispered.

"Only for a moment. I'm sure that despite the distraction being thrown by my boys out there, someone's going to question the origin of that explosion."

"Distraction?"

He hummed, "Don't you hear it? Half the fun is what's happening outside."

Rayn Krew sighed, releasing his hand to most likely tend to her temples. "You're quite conniving, Razer. I'm still juggling with whether you're friend or foe."

"Not as conniving as the woman equipped with box cutters under her bare feet. Tell me, Rayn, have you always been armed with those? I've seen the scars last night."

He could feel her fingers tap his chin as he faced the direction of her voice. "Did you think I was vulnerable every time you heard my shoes fall off, ducky?"

The Champion could no longer restrain that recalescent stirring inside of him and seized her by the waist. As he melded his chest to hers, careful to avoid her fresh wound, he spoke clearly into her ear.

"Had our situation been different right now, you would have left me no choice but to take you to bed again with comments like those."

"Is that the secret to your criminally blackened heart? A woman who would kill to love you and love to kill you?"

Just then, voices echoed down the hall. Their stampeding stomps a sign that they'd be closing in on them soon if they didn't get moving. Before he could speak, she pushed away, ripping what must have been her blouse into a makeshift tunicate within seconds. Shiv's impression of the female Crime Lord was not an ill placed one. As soon as her chest was sufficiently wrapped, she stepped in front of him.

"Let's move."

"Right behind you, Heiress."

* * *

"It's been a long time, Donovan. I see you went for a career change."

"You left me with little options," Cutter spat, readying his stance as McSweeney's leftover men approached him.

The Crime Boss chuckled, taking this reunion a lot more casually than expected. "I haven't the slightest idea what you mean. We treated you good, Don, real good."

"Yeah, up until I lost that Fratto fight and rewarded the family with our third annual loss in a row."

The man sighed, his former friend and long time archenemy. "We could have worked something out. I'm sure we could have."

"Oh yeah? You didn't appear very open to negotiations when you drove me and my wife off the road!"

"Now, listen here," he paused, a villainous grin creeping across his face, "I didn't hurt your wife, Donovan.

_You_ did."

Cutter erupted into rage at McSweeney's last accusation, and when he tried to rush him, his three goons latched onto his back.

"You- bastard!" the racer gritted through clenched teeth as he swung his body wildly, knocking off his attackers. One, he was quick to take advantage of his fall and heel him right in the temple – _hard_.

Instant death.

As the other two flanked him, Cutter yanked towards the right, dodging a jab to defend with a heavy hook to his skull. As his opponent stumbled, he could feel the other shadow over him. He swiveling accordingly, trading a bout of jabs and uppercuts, until the distance shrunk and he had to resort to following up with elbow slashes. A lucky stab against a thorax robbed his assailant of his breath and allowed Cutter to focus on one at a time.

With each throw of his fist, he could still remember clearly, the day he was reborn as Cutter, it was the day Donovan died.

"_Vera," Donovan choked, barely a whisper. Half of him hoped that the woman staring out the window, as still as a photograph, didn't hear him. Instead, he received the opposite effect. At the sound, the redhead spun around with a hop so fierce, the springs in her mattress squeaked. Her eyes questioning, Donovan approached her slowly on his crutches._

"_Who-"_

_He could feel the tears burn in his eyes, and did all in his power to hide them, even with the mask, they would dribble off his chin. Her head was wrapped in bandages, the few strands of apricot behind her ears, rusted with dried blood, her forearm was thick with a cast and some bruising was visible on the limbs she folded over her perfectly white sheets. _

"_V-Vera, it's me."_

_With hesitation, he stopped a foot away from her bed, scolding himself to keep his hands on his crutches. He must've closed his eyes hoping to wake up, but then she spoke._

"_Donny? Donny is that you?"_

The cracking was pronounced beneath his boot, where Cutter did not hesitate to catch a second goon with an axe kick. Once he'd been sprawled on the floor after a clumsy slip, the McSweeney thug succumbed to the same fate as Cutter's first victim. The stomp to his skull would either kill him instantly or turn the man a vegetable. Seeking revenge, his partner launched into a run.

"Ugh- you-"

The racer lashed back, a roundhouse kick sunk into his ribs, throwing him back and allowing Cutter to close in for the finishing blows. As he sought to be rid of the small fry fast and efficiently, he kept a vigilant eye on his target. McSweeney circled the scuffle, his taunting still continuously mordacious.

"Nice job finishing that last one. Had you been so blood thirsty during that Fratto fight years ago, we might not be here having this delightful sparring."

"I'll show you blood thirsty, James, wait your- damn turn."

"Brings back memories, hey chum? Come on, Don, I know you can finish him faster."

Cutter's outcry mirroring a warison in the midst of a forlorn battle, he charged at his last obstacle, to kill, being his intent.

"James!"

"_Donny, what happened to you? What are you wearing?"_

_The fighter crumpled at her bedside, his crutches clambering onto the floor. As nurses attempted to hurry in, the woman shooed them away, pulling the man now spreading over her legs up, as if he were too loose for wear._

"_Oh, Vera, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry-"_

"_Donny, Donny, wait just a minute. Look at me," she reprimanded and he obeyed. His hidden face in her palms, she whispered, "Where's that Grunt who couldn't strike fear into a Muse?"_

_If the circumstances had been different, he would have laughed. She always teased him for having what she liked to call, a face molded by the Precursors, in which he often hardened at the job. She always managed to break through it. Whenever he tried to look angry in her presence, she'd soften it with a gentle scolding and a sweet serving of her home baked sweets. She won every minor argument with those tactics, and if a loaf of bread didn't convince him, the usually reserved woman would divert him in more- arousing ways._

"_Trying to play the tough guy," she'd say," I won't have any of that fluff, you hear?"_

_There was no such thing as anger when they were together. Her adorably accented rebuke, her confident clumsiness and her elaborate dinners - if he was a personification of anger, then she was his antithesis. It might have been these very qualities, the ones that he had grown to love so much, that had caused his downfall with the McSweeney family._

"_But, Vera, I- the accident-"_

"_Donovan- we're alive."_

Cutter had managed to break enough ribs on James' last henchman to finally pay heed to his main target. Propping up his fists, the expression on James finally solidified.

"You should have been dead, Donovan."

"I guess that was your mistake," Cutter spat.

The two men closed in, guarding their faces with their hands as they sought an opening. James dashed in first and before he knew it, Cutter was facing a barrage of hits that he worked to defend against without losing his step. Although it had been years, Cutter had been witness to plenty McSweeney fights to know that he was mostly a stand up fighter. However, one wrong slip, and the Crime Lord wouldn't hesitate to boast his ground and pounding.

Thanks to the few and very rare trips Mizo had made with their lieutenant, Razer was always updated on the annual brawls between the Frattos and the McSweeneys. While Mizo tended to international dealings, Razer would be sure to pick up a detail or two that might aid Cutter in his vengeance. Honestly, he never took the second in command to be the sort of guy who cared, but assuming that after the man had personally witnessed the aftermath of the car accident while visiting him in the hospital, it's possible that he felt slightly involved too, for he was the one who had introduced him to the prospect of being a Combat Racer.

"There was a lot of money riding on that fight. What did you expect?"

The loss that would blow James' already short fuse was bound to happen eventually because even if he sacrificed a career change, there was one thing he would absolutely refuse to sacrifice - and that was his wife. Sure, it was James that opened doors to beach houses, expensive automobiles and name brand suits, but Vera had done something that he didn't think any other human was capable of – sooth his rage.

"I don't know, James, maybe you could have killed me when my wife wasn't in the passenger seat!"

"Hah! Are you saying that you would have given your life up gladly had you been alone?"

Long story, short, Cutter had a lot of pent up anger from his past, anger that gave him more grief than what it was worth. Despite not being very social, Cutter found that when you could break a man's jaw with a few fingers, just about anyone will want to love you. Vera, however, after he met her that afternoon when she ruined his freshly washed car with pasta sauce, she was the only person that could love without money and without fearing, and even if he tried (not that he would), she'd scold him again before stuffing a muffin into his mouth.

Cutter paused to taste for an answer while breaking James' jabs with his forearms. He'd managed to get a few body shots, his heel working his left leg. Just a bit more, and James would be limping. He, on the other hand, his eyebrow was grazed good. The blood cascading down his face was inhibiting his vision and without his thirst to kill this man, he would have been counting stars long ago.

It'd been a while since James had hit him, and James had a fist of steel. Fortunately Cutter didn't have a glass jaw.

"You're right. I would have tried to kill you first."

"_Don't- Just leave it on."_

_Donovan unintentionally shouted, regretting it as soon as his wife retracted the curious hand that reached to remove his mask. When he saw her fingers tremble, his heart broke. Although they hadn't been married for long, he knew her enough to know that no matter what he did, he could never scare her. And now that he was forced to wear this contraption over his face, the device that would serve as both the emotional and physical barrier between himself and his soul mate, he watched as Vera stared at him, hesitant and unsure. The man inwardly convinced himself that it was for their safety. To McSweeney, Donovan was dead and for a while, it was best to keep him thinking that way._

"_I just want to see your face, Donny."_

_Biting at his lip to restrain a sob, he mustered in the most controlled tone possible, "I told you, it's bad, Vera. Real bad."_

_Of course, Vera knew what was best and automatically tried to argue the point. "The scarring can't be that terrible. You already know, I'd love you no matter how you look-"_

_Donovan took hold of the hand she had wrapped in a cast and caressed the bandage with his thumbs. Unable to meet her eyes, he shook his head, his lies stalling. If only she'd known that he hid himself because of his own shame, and his fear that he'd lose her the moment she saw his face._

"_I- I need more time, Vera. Please."_

_For the first time in their relationship, the woman did something she'd never done before. She let him win that argument._

_Finally, her lips trembled and it was the second time Donovan witnessed her crying. The first time, was when he returned home after a real bloody match-up and while the welts on his back and the bulge in his eye were everyday for the fighter, upon seeing the damage, for someone like Vera, it was a shock. That night, he had to explain what he did for a living, keeping details as vague as possible to keep from compromising her safety. He figured that she had stormed out of the bedroom to begin packing her things when she returned from the kitchen with an icepack instead._

_The first time, he was sure, hurt like a bitch, but now, this time was almost unbearable._

_Sensing his guilt and not wanting her husband to feel more shameful than he already was about the accident, Vera opened her arms. _

"_I'm sorry," he muffled into her hair in the tightest and the last hug he'd give her before the gap grew between them for years to come…_

"I was young, Don, still learning to run the family so that my father could hand it over to me a few years ago."

"I thought we had each other's backs, like brothers."

"Brothers? Hah! Surely, you jest! You were livestock! Had I not sent out for your execution, do you think my father would have given me his inheritance?"

"Is that all this was about, McSweeney, your big, fancy, family name?"

"Of course, mate! That's all it's ever about in the family, or have you been playing cards with your new chums the past few years? You were only a bullet on my resume, Don, and after Theodore Fratto's death, I had finally succeeded my father. And you know what-"

James swung a heavy hand and stumbled, Cutter clumsily swiveling away, just as exhausted as his opponent.

"It was worth it!"

Cutter wheezed, a few minutes into their bout and already, both men were worn. One eye open as he tried to blink away the blood and think away the throbbing in his head, he followed James. Time was of the essence and if he didn't finish this quick, leaving Butcheree would be nothing more than a fantasy.

Finally, with a last burst of determination, Cutter charged. There was a crack when he landed the uppercut that had tossed his adversary to the ground, courtesy of the leg he managed to weaken. He jumped him, scrambling to sit over his arms and keep hitting until the man stopped breathing. James was agile, and tussled them into an ongoing roll, an exchange of profanity and heavy hits aimed for the face, temples or thorax.

"We're finishing this today, James!" Cutter declared, all his might into the swing that would graze past his opponent's thigh as he squirmed to stand and limp away. When he straightened to follow, a piece of debris caught him in the face. It was evident that the James was so desperate, he resorted to chucking rubble from the earlier explosion in order to make his getaway.

"Sorry, Don. I still have some unfinished business with my old lass."

Cutter howled with frustration. When the dust in his eyes had teared out, he noted a new bruise on his cheekbone thanks to his opponent's cheap tricks. Frantically, he scanned the room. Aside from the lifeless or injured, the man he sought to kill was nowhere in sight.

"McSweeney!"

* * *

By the time they had followed the trail of debris that Cutter had left behind, Rayn could vaguely hear the ocean. Judging by view she was forcibly intimidated by every time she drove up to this hell hole, they must have been somewhere towards the back of the detention center. This could both be a good or a bad omen.

"I can hear the ocean," she thought out loud.

"We're probably on the lower levels. Hopefully we can find somewhere to exit with all the holes that my team's plugged into this place."

Speaking of holes, it seemed that they weren't the only fugitives seeking them out. Stragglers had brushed by as lights flickered back on and Officers regrouped to regain control. Upon running into other fleeing inmates, like leapers caught in headlights, they froze with bulging eyes. After the initial shock, once it was apparent that the couple was of no threat, the prisoners steadily made their way in their own direction without paying much heed. Bounty or not, priorities had shifted. Escape appeared to be the more appealing option. And so, the Krew Heiress and Razer had managed to avoid most physical confrontation on the way as Butcheree tried to piece itself back together.

There was a period of time where neither of them spoke. The exhilaration from successfully escaping and screwing McSweeney over had died down. At one point, Rayn Krew had realized she'd been walking without being vigilant and when she caught herself, she walked ahead of the racer, inwardly redeeming herself. To rely on him too much too soon would be as good as building a house without a foundation.

"What if there are no holes, Razer?"

"Then we'll have to make one or fight our way out."

"What of your men?"

"I've only instructed them so far. If I am not out by a certain time, they have been ordered to leave."

"How long until they return for you?"

"They won't," he said with so much confidence, it sent ice up her calves. The thought of never getting out frightened the Crime Lord. There was still so much to attend to and she had yet to indulge in the pleasure of officially owning Kras' Combat Racing Franchise for at least a day. It was one indulgence she'd kill for if she had no choice.

"I'd say we follow the water. It sounds like it's getting louder."

"That may be our only option," Razer agreed. He stopped in a dark corner, where electricity hadn't repaired the lighting and removed his shirt.

"Here."

Rayn stared at his shirt warily, suspiciously. "How chivalrous of you. I don't recall you being such a gentleman about an hour ago."

"You weren't very proper yourself, elegantly performing a strip tease free of charge and then flipping the bird at the end of the show."

"Call it my defense mechanisms," the woman stepped to him and he accepted her challenge.

"If I really wanted to, I could have strangled you with this shirt before you knew what happened."

"I invite you to try," she hissed, pressing her pistol against his chin. She could smell her own blood and had no doubts that he could smell it too. She wondered if the odor was what contributed to what was making them more aggressive. She waited and he met her eyes with a humorous glint.

"Oh, just give me," she snatched the shirt away and threw it on as quickly as she could without ripping at her wound. As if the scar she'd already suffered as a child wasn't enough and now it had another to accompany it, another to burn into her memories. Eager to leave and sort all of this out, Krew rushed ahead and when she missed a step, the Champion's arm secured her against him.

His chest blanketing her back, his mouth over her ear, Rayn felt herself shudder, "You're welcome, Miss Krew."

Before she could jab an elbow into his gut, she stopped when something ahead caught her attention. The lieutenant didn't let go and instead, she felt his chin lift away in search of what distracted her.

"Holy yakow, is that-"

"It's light. Sunlight."

Feeling more cheerful already, she smiled, "Thank Mar! Let's get moving."

She broke away from him and led, glancing back to see him at her heels. After a few feet, the hall had brightened and they'd managed to climb over some rubble that led out to the edges of the crag. Below was the border between ocean and land, a gambling jump that would decide their lives if not aimed accurately.

"Do I want to die drowning or die splattering against the rocks? My, what lovely choices!" she quipped bitterly.

"Dying at sea always sounded most exotic to me."

The Heiress met his eyes clearly now and smiled. Pleased by her expression, although she looked the prime example of make up when it's reached it's apocalypse, the scruffy and weary Champion returned the grin.

"Do you think we can make it with a jump?" she whispered, as if contemplating to herself rather than asking his opinion.

"Not without severe or fatal injury. They don't call Butcheree inescapable for nothing."

Together they stared, hope taunting them below as they decided. Suddenly Rayn confessed something completely random and human.

"The first thing I want when I get home is a warm soak in my bath salts."

There was a long enough pause that Rayn was beginning to feel heat in her face and was convinced that she had just made a superfluous remark just to fill air until Razer, to her relief, echoed her feelings.

"Hmm. I'd like to stop by my favorite Accardo bakery and pick up Nutella. I've been struck with a craving."

For the first time in what felt like eternity since the night before, the Crime Lord laughed out loud, carelessly and girlishly.

"Nutella? I had no idea you cared for such a thing."

"Believe me, the Accardos are masters in culinary arts, amongst other things of course."

Rayn sighed, "That does sound tempting."

The sun was peeking from the horizon at just the right angle, sweeping the oranges and blues into a flurry of green that would accent the rising clouds. Before she could say another word, another man spoke, and it wasn't the racer beside her.

"How touching. Am I interrupting?"

"James! W-why are you here?"

Rayn shot up, anger returning as she tightened her fingers against her gun. As she unlocked the safety, something she had left undone when she feigned her threat against Razer moments ago, the Heiress could feel exhaustion threatening her usually perfect aim.

It was do or die.

"Good question," Razer growled, just as disappointed as she was. Limping and bruised, the fighter aimed a gun at them both, one he'd probably scavenged from an Officer.

"It seems that your golden boy couldn't keep me down, Razer. It's too bad. I hope you weren't placing bets."

"James," Rayn hissed, her hand trembling as she raised her gun to him, "Your presence is becoming quite a thorn in my side. I can't stand to deal with it any longer."

Deprived of sleep, proper nourishment and now facing blood loss along with trauma, Rayn Krew had finally reached her breaking point. Her scuffles with Mizo's lieutenant paled in comparison with the wrenching memories she had to face every time she saw James McSweeney. All she wanted was her bath salts, and maybe if the offer was open to her, a try at that Nutella, but James?

He had to go!

Rayn decided that if her life was going to move forward, she had to get rid of this obstacle or God help her-

"You don't have the bollocks, Rayn. Be a good lass and surrender to me. I promise to make your death quick."

She spat at him, "You never loved me an ounce more than your blinking daddy's business. I don't know why I ever wasted the breath."

"Says the pot to the kettle," her ex-lover gestured at Razer, making it obvious that he knew her intentions with the Mizo business. He might have been right. She too, loved nothing more than her father's legacy and sought to claim more to add to it. Even so, no matter how alike or different they might have been, only one would live and prosper.

"It was a good deal, Raynie. You should have taken it. You could have been next to me in this stand off. Now here you are on the end with all the odds against it, a cliff or my bullet, your only paths to salvation."

"If there's one thing I learned from my father, it's that you never take the safe route when you gamble. Or else, what's the fun in it?"

McSweeney gave her one last smile, one that she'd seen better versions of when they had once shared ice-cold bottles of water tangled together on his gym mats, when he escorted her proudly on his arm to the Fight Event after parties and he'd sneak in through her dorm windows at night to tease at her uniform before slipping it off. The woman felt her heart swell, with pain, hatred and pity for both herself and for him. Him, for winding up down the road that he did and dragging her down with him, and herself, for loving the twisted some of a bitch some distant time ago.

"It ends now, Raynie," James McSweeney declared, unlocking his safety as well.

As she felt her fingers loosen, just as she was about to screen out the gunshot with the loudest scream she could muster, a force yanked her wrist into a ninety degree spin before she instinctively squeezed the trigger, what was supposed to be deafening, now muffled as the Krew Heiress went mute with shock.

Time had stilled and the woman felt her vision begin to blur. Remembering to inhale, Rayn gasped sharply. She blinked, hoping that her exhaustion was the source for the hallucination she was witness to. But from the pained expression on her rival in front of her, Rayn recognized her denial as wishful thinking.

"R-Rayn," Razer coughed, holding her forearm fast against his gut. Her emptied gun still smoked from the shot, point blank range – into Razer.

"Wha- what the hell are you doing?"

The entire thing was preposterous!

The one bullet that had no purpose until one of her most haunting memories had followed her here was gone! Only moments ago, she might have teased, might have played at it, fitting her gun against the Champion's face as he presented his shirt to her and now? The single bullet that she would have rather reserved for the standing nightmare just a few feet away, had been wasted into Razer's innards, and forcibly directed by none other than the lieutenant himself.

"The usual, foiling your plans, of course."

"I don't understand."

"That shot was going to miss anyway, no matter whose trigger finger you inherited."

"What? But I-"

"That quivering in your hand would have cost you your life. Trust me."

"And so you sought to remedy this by taking the bullet yourself?"

She looked up at him helplessly. It just didn't make sense. McSweeney must have been just as stunned for no other shots were fired. The dawn pronounced the crinkles beneath the lieutenant's eyes and as his hold on her hand slackened, they faced her with wavering Viridian.

"In his eyes-" he coughed up blood into his fingers, "-she eclipses and predominates the whole of her sex."

_Quoting literature again? At a time like this? Either that, or he's referring to himself in third person and that is not a good sign._

"W-what? Have you gone mad?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Krew, but I couldn't let you rob my boy of fulfilling the end of his blood feud."

"Razer, don't bullshit me. Why did you make me shoot you?"

The racer chuckled, thumbing her bangs from her vision as he eased towards the cliff that spread out to an ambiguous freedom.

"Don't ruin the Franchise while I'm away-"

"Wait-"

When Razer's body fell, Rayn almost followed. Clinging helplessly at the edge of the cliff, she stared in disbelief as he faded into the distance, his eyes closed and that damned smug look over his face – looking like a man who welcomed death. Not wanting to witness the splash into the ocean or the sickening crunch on land, the Krew Heiress clenched her eyes and pinned her ears.

When she had turned to face McSweeney, she had found the real reason why he had not fired on her.

Through his chest, a knife screwed. A familiar man clutched onto him from behind as she watched James rattle violently, mumbling what might have been her name before his eternal still.

The shock from Razer's suicide dive relieved her of any emotion as she witnessed McSweeney's death. As the weapon yanked out, she watched her past crumple to the floor, her mouth dry of words. Clutching onto the scar on her chest, the shirt that Razer had given her before he fell to his demise, Rayn Krew looked helplessly to her unlikely savior.

* * *

The brunette replaced the mask over his face, throwing the knife down with disgust.

_Brothers? Hah! Surely, you jest! You were livestock!_

Seven years of agony had finally partially resolved itself. Although he and his wife would never be the same, at the very least, Donovan was now looking forward to a life where he didn't feel inclined to don a mask for their safety due to overseas enemies. Where Cutter could be Donovan again and he could relieve Vera's nurse, Ruby, of her protection duties.

"Nothing is worth my wife's life," he spat, giving the corpse a subtle kick as he approached the wide-eyed woman on the ground.

The Krew Princess didn't appear much different than the body he had just kicked. All blood drained from her face, Cutter moved to snap her out of it.

"Krew. Let's go."

She stalled for a second before leaving her daze to meet his eyes. Mouth agape, she searched for words.

"Your- but your Boss- don't you want to retrieve him?"

Cutter reassured her with a firm nod, "He can handle himself."

"But at that height- I don't think-"

"If you're willing, you're free to jump. I'm heading down further with or without you. Remember, you are my enemy. I don't have to help you."

As if scalded, she drew back from him. Standing, she snatched her face away from his gaze and banned her arms across her chest.

With the haughtiest voice she could muster under the circumstances, she hissed, "Fine. I have everything I wanted anyway, despite the minor setbacks."

This was probably true. If she had the deeds, with her psychotic ex-fiance left to rot, courtesy of Cutter's party crashing, and her most intimidating rival bunjee jumping off a rock without so much as a rubber band, the Crime Lord should have been skipping down the hall at this point, dehydration, blood loss and all. And yet, it was obvious that his Boss' sudden decision making caught her off-guard and she was still struggling to accept it.

She was right. As a Mizo member and his fellow racer, he _should_ retrieve him. Hell, Donovan wanted nothing more, but to dive right after him, because if it wasn't for Razer, he would have never gotten the chance to be rid of McSweeney. The clock was ticking though, and somehow, the fighter knew that busting out of here was what the Boss expected of him, and so, he'd do just that.

"There should be some other hole we can crawl out of without breaking much. Let's make it quick," he ordered, all the more talkative now that he was in a reasonably good mood after years of unresolved anger management and despair.

All Donovan could think about was getting home to his wife and a hot meal. He wanted nothing more than to hold her, to confront her, and now that James was gone, to confront his own worse fears.

Krew eventually fell behind, still confused and doing a poor job on focusing on her escape. Cutter was thankful for the burst of sunlight that came a few feet into a deeper descent. They had reached another exit, one that would safely guide them to climbing ground so that he could reach his Dune Hopper.

"Take my hand," he offered, snatching up her fingers without waiting for her permission. She gave little protest.

"All of this is poppy cock. Every. Last. Bit of it."

"Horseshit all the way."

"And you, speaking several syllables a minute, having better hair than me, and now acting as my rescue team, this has to be a dream! Even the most calculating murderers fear you, you know? Wouldn't trust you with a rusted bobby pin."

He almost laughed himself. If it_ was_ a dream, then he knew exactly where he was going once he woke up - off the roof of his apartment complex.

"I have that effect on people."

The sirens were wailing in the distance. Officers were marching up and down corridors, across the barb wired bridges and up into the watchtowers left standing. Suffering a couple of knee scrapes and elbow grinds, they managed to reach his Dune Hopper which luckily hadn't been blown to pieces in the chaos. With a couple of tries, the engine coughed and spurted.

Krew hopped in and mumbled, "Thanks for the ride."

Cutter didn't answer.

* * *

The descent down the sharp crag was rough, the Dune Hopper bumping and jolting her already sore body every which way. Tightly she held onto the vehicle and she had been so focused on the landscape where she lost herself, she hadn't realized when they had reached smoother terrain.

"We should reach the rest of my team soon so in a few minutes, you're on your own. I don't think you wanna push your luck."

Rayn sighed, still facing away as the wind sanded her eyes. "Why did you help me?"

Her words must've sounded sincere enough that the enigmatic racer felt it worthy to answer.

"Boss kept you alive for a reason. I don't know what his intentions were, but for now, my first priority isn't killing you- it's getting home."

Rayn took those words to heart. Perhaps Razer _had _kept her alive for a reason. She was so exhausted though, there was no point in dwelling on it any longer. Too much had happened today, too much that she hadn't planned for and she'd suffer for it later.

She replayed it over and over again, trying to find where she might have missed something. Where he might have had something to grab onto, what kind of maneuver he would have had to pull to survive that, and Rayn was coming up empty.

_Don't ruin the Franchise while I'm away…_

What in blinking hell was that supposed to mean? Out of all the last words a man could say, to prolong the legacy of his life as a racer or to embed his memory into her heart from man to woman, that was what he chose to say? _That?_

And that quote!

_In his eyes she eclipses and predominates the whole of her sex._

She had read the book in high school. The protagonist's view on women, how the detective's cold and calculating personality left no room for admirable emotions such as love, and yet, this one woman, would be the only one he'd refer to as "the woman," as if, she was the only woman that he'd acknowledge.

There was another quote, if she remembered correctly; the king had referred to the woman who had outwitted the detective as having "the face of the most beautiful of women and the mind of the most resolute of men…"

_That man is preposterous! It's no wonder I imprisoned him in the first place! Difficult! Stubborn! Hard to read! Cocky, arrogant, and flipping-_

It was too late to take it back when she felt her shoulders shudder. Her mother. Her father. James McSweeney. Jak. And now Razer. Either dead or had abandoned her.

The wind cooled her burning eyes and it wasn't until she felt something hit her shoulder that Rayn acknowledged the driver.

"Here."

Cutter, the man she once revered as the enigmatic, unpredictable and sneaky psychotic, was now offering her the very mask that even caused grown men to wince whenever his face was displayed on the large screens between races. This man was a stranger to her. He had also attacked her, by Razer's orders, yes, but nonetheless, assaulted her.

"I've used this to hide for too long, but I'm done. I don't mind lending it out for the rest of the drive."

His words struck a chord and before she could visibly sob, she shielded her face with his mask. She was quiet, quick and once she mopped herself up, returned it to its owner.

"Thank you, Cutter."

The Dune Hopper braked.

"This is your stop, Krew."

Already, Rayn could make out the entourage of vehicles speeding up the road towards them, her guards would no doubt be spilling out and aiming their rifles at Cutter's forehead. When she got out of the car, she walked around to the driver's side and rewarded the married man.

"Go home. To your wife."

After the shock of her kiss on his forehead wore, the racer nodded.

"Believe me, I will."

As she watched him speed off into the distance, one of her goon cars swerved beside her. Expecting a muscled up rock man to come out, she was caught off guard when her butler approached her instead.

"I-Isaac?"

"Milady! Are you all right! Heavens, you're bleeding-"

"It's only a scratch-"

"If _that_ is a scratch, then this shotgun in my hands is a water pistol. Please, come inside the car. Let me have a look."

Rayn smiled, relieved to return to the warm and familiar.

"We don't have time for that right now. There are more important matters to attend to before my well needed soak and nap."

"M-mistress, if you beg my pardon, if you don't mind me saying this, but you are hardly in any condition to be faffing around. I absolutely will not allow it."

Her butler was serious, already reaching to stuff her into the car and without much strength to fight back at this point, Rayn surrendered. Before he could tend to her wound, the woman weighed onto the elderly man's shoulder, smelling of woods and peppermint.

"Rayn, dear, are you- sure you're all right?" Isaac whispered, unsure of how to react to the girl he'd watch grow up for years, learned to respect, and look after as if she were his own.

The Heiress sighed into him. Although many of the people in her life were gone, Isaac would still serve her morning Chai and break any hostilities with a properly placed and witty comment.

"Before we return to the mansion, I have two small requests."

"Yes. Anything, Milady."

"We need to stop by Kras' Federal Bank. I have some important legal documents that need picking up."

"All right, the bank it is."

"And lastly, I want to stop by the nearest Accardo bakery."

There was a pause. The butler pushed the girl away as he removed his gloves and readied the first aid kit. "Bakery, Mistress? The Accardo Syndicate's? Whatever for?"

Rayn Krew laughed, watching the scenery blur by the window as she tugged the shirt that Razer had left her with.

"Call it a sudden craving…"

* * *

**Glossary:**

Matador's muleta: Bullfighter's cape

Jammy Bugger: Lucky

In his eyes she eclipses and predominates the whole of her sex: Sherlock Holmes

* * *

**A/N: Shout out to Captain Hilts! For giving me tips on writing action scenes because her action scenes own mine. Thanks!**

**And so, the main climax is over, but there is still some surprise to be had. Last chapter is next. Will post soon. Maybe Spring Break?**


	6. Fine Print

**Fine Print**

_Isaac…_

Rayn's fingers shook above the buzzer that summoned her personal butler. It was pitch-black in her room save for the slivers of moonlight filtering in from her shades, and yet she could still manage to find the buzzer blindly.

The woman hesitated. Her chest heaved as she clutched herself, recollecting the moments relived in her nightmares. This time it was bad, a combination of dark prisons, living family members who were in reality, long deceased, and the cruel irony of making friends with people whom friendship was impossible. Mother. Father. James. Jak. And the last she remembered was her chest bleeding, a child again in a wet dress as she clung fearfully to herself, desperately trying to find her voice before she was embraced against a wall.

"Breath," he said, and she sunk into warmth. As they fell backwards, she turned to see the face she was already expecting and woke before getting the satisfaction.

Now, at two in the morning, she'd been torn from her silken bed sheets, and the Krew Heiress battled with herself: To call on her butler for a midnight snack or to return to bed. Her eyes looked toward a bookshelf across the room and although she couldn't read the Titles, she knew what she was looking for. Abandoning the idea to call for Isaac, Rayn made her way across. Her fingers instinctively scrolled down the spine of a book she'd read in high school once or twice. One line had inspired her to re-read it and hopefully a passage or two would lull her back to sleep.

_In his eyes, she eclipses and predominates the whole of her sex…_

* * *

When the demolitions expert entered the Naughty Ottsel, he was on his third cigar since leaving his shabby apartment in New Haven. The first, he lost to his old lady when she snatched it out of his mouth – entirely his fault, he'd admit.

_Ya don't mouth off to little Red, especially when Combat Racing's turnin' the city into a pile of rubble every season. _

Sure, it slaps a nice bonus on her construction job paychecks, but the metal bugs coming up from the sewers piss that woman off like an unexpected visit from the in-laws. And having him add to the destruction on his freelance with the Freedom League did not make the exterminator very happy.

That was fine though. Taryn was hottest when she was fiery.

"Jinx," the Commander regarded him at the bar, already gesturing for a shot for his companion.

"Hey, Commander, how's life treatin' ya?"

"Not good enough," Torn grunted as he slid Jinx the small shot glass of the strongest stuff they had.

The second cigar he lost when he was passing the newspaper stand in the Bazaar. Headlines made his head spin and before he realized it, his smoke had somehow landed the floor.

"Shit," he cursed, at both the newspaper and the sacrificed cigar. Now he knew why Torn had called him up so fast and if he'd been one of those white-collared paper pushin' jerks that subscribe to get these things thrown at their doors every morning, he would have at _least_ been prepared.

So now on his third and knowing he'd probably waste that any second as well, the ex-Krew mobster snubbed it into an ashtray.

"How's Taryn?"

"Oh, Red? Hasn't blinded me with that smoky sprayer of hers yet, so I assume she still likes me enough not to kill me. What 'bout the Governor?"

The man scoffed, taking a moment to chug down his shot before calling for another.

"Speaking of Ash, she had my ass for breakfast. Matter of fact that was the reason I called you here. Know anything about this?"

As expected, the Commander revealed the newspaper he'd been dreading, the one that had cost him his second smoke. Ever since the gang had gotten poisoned and blackmailed in Kras months back, Freedom League had been keeping tabs on Rayn Krew's activity.

"Buncha suckers," Jinx laughed when the gossip had reached him. They had a saying back when the bar was the Hip Hog.

Never trust a dead man.

"Should've known better than to trust Krew."

Although it'd been a while since he left the Underground to better his life, Jinx worked with Krew for years, watched his little girl grow up and knew the Crime family enough to know that if he invited you for a drink, either you'd just done him a good deed, or the cocktail was the kind of brew you'd only appreciate once. It was a dumb move on their part, after all, why the hell would Krew leave 'em anything, but hell to pay?

The best part was the look on Jakkie boy's face when he teased at him. "Should of called your old buddy Jinx and invited him to the party, but ya didn't. That's what ya get. I would have told ya not to go. Hell, even Sig would have."

Jinx didn't hang around Sig much, but he knew that he never saw the man ever accept a drink from the Boss either. As soon as word reached Sig's ears, he drove over to Kras to help, and behind closed doors, maybe convince little Raynie to go easy on wonder boy and his friends. Jinx didn't bother.

"Never took you as the reading type, Commander," Jinx jested, trying to avoid the topic at hand.

"It made international headlines this morning. Apparently Krew had a nephew no one knew about overseas. He was out on parole yesterday except he never made it a mile from the prison."

"Really? That's unfortunate."

Playing stupid never worked with Torn, but he'd try his luck anyway.

"His car was rigged. His goons were on high alert all day expecting an attack, but the explosives were so professional, later Feds were calling it a government job, but _I_ think different. I _know_ different."

"I'm sure Johan had a lot of enemies, you know how it is, Commander, can't please everybody."

"Where were you yesterday, Jinx?"

"Oh you know, little bit of this, little bit of that. You can ask Taryn. She wasn't sleepin' alone last night."

Torn squinted, retrieving the glass that the barmaid had left him. After a swig, he slammed the glass down hard enough to echo louder than the cheesy karaoke Daxter had playing in the background.

"I never _did_ say his name, Jinx."

The demo expert laughed out loud. Taking the chance to relight his cigar, the man was getting ready to walk out when he looked back at Torn.

"Old habits die hard, ya know?"

"All I'm saying is don't get in too deep. I'd hate to have another morning like this one where I had to convince Ash that Krew _must_ have had plenty _other _demolition teams to call on, all of whom had _nothing_ to do with _you_ who used to be number one on his list a few years back."

"Relax, Tornie. Call it a favor, okay? Tell the Governor to send my bonus in the mail."

When the blond left the Naughty Ottsel, he released an audible sigh. That was a close call. Getting chewed out by Torn was never fun.

He was about to head home and pray that the Commander didn't put his alibi to the test by ringing Taryn up later (He _did_ mention how he lost that first cigar, right?) when an old co-worker of his approached. Apparently, Torn had sent an invite to someone other than him.

"Jinx! I see you're in high spirits. What's wrong, chili pepper, not much to blow up these days?"

Sig. Despite the fact that they never became buddies, Jinx had a couple of run-ins with Sig working for the same Crime Boss, maybe a co-op mission or two. He was a favorite amongst Krew's Wastelanders and little Raynie had also taken a liking to the cheery man. Whenever the Krew princess was not shooing him out of the room because of his cigars, Jinx would catch glimpses of her dragging Sig around the mansion, having him kill bugs and join her for afternoon tea.

"Nothin'. Just lost too many cigars, is all."

"Hmm, something tells me that you saw the morning paper and Torn wasn't very pleased."

"Pleased? The Commander was delighted. Should have seen him - a beaming ray of sunshine."

Sig laughed, "Guess that means I'm up next for interrogation. Not looking forward to it. Torn's a good guy deep down but on his bad days, he eats takes his wheaties with dynamite."

"Yeah." Without incident, Jinx had managed to start and finish his third cigar. Elated that he was able to smoke it all, his mood was already improving as he snubbed it beneath his toe. "I swear, last favor I ever do for her. My old lady finds out and she'll rip me a new one. Supposed to be on my best behavior these days."

"Last favor for our little Raynie, huh? She's all grown up now. Making poison cocktails and contracting executions all by herself."

"Yeah, I remember when she was knee-high, always makin' me throw out my cigars."

"Despite the headlines this morning, I can only hope she's keeping out of too much trouble."

Jinx nodded, growing more impatient to get to his apartment before Torn could get the chance to even _try_ calling.

"Yeah. I hear from the grapevine that the racing business has been keeping her busy. Rayn always liked her toys."

"True. As long as she has them cars, something tells me that our little Krew Princess will be just fine."

* * *

"You barmy bastard, pedal! Pedal to the metal!"

"Drink, Mistress?"

"Not now Isaac, it's almost finished-"

_And there you have it race fans! Iceland Citadel's team has won by a hair and have tied down the scores! Don't take your potty breaks yet folks because after commercials, we'll be revving our engines for the last round on the Loading Docks! _

_Will Iceland's wheel jockeys continue dominating the circuit, leaving Kras' new racers frozen in their wake or will Kras' rookies come firing it back up with a vengeance in the last round? Stay tuned-_

Rayn lowered the volume on the television she had in her office. Behind her, the large window showcased the street that would mark the middle of Kras City's main racing route, a skyscraper not far off from the Bloody Hook.

"Ugh! I could almost hear it now, Isaac."

"Hear what, Mistress?"

"The monotony of Kras' passerbys as they hum by our giant plasma screens, regarding the sport as nothing more than an infomercial for vacuums.

"Don't you think you're being a bit harsh to yourself, Rayn-"

"It's aggravating! I _see_ them yawning! Hell, _I'm_ yawning! Those very same plasma screens last season were traffic stoppers, jaw droppers and crowd gatherers!

With the way my dream team was swapping blood and paint with Mizo, authorities were sending us complaints about clogging the sidewalks with civilians that would stop in their tracks just to see who would die next?

Isaac! In all the time that Combat Racing has been airing on prime time, it had it's highest ratings in all of history last season and now? Now?"

Her butler swapped her juice for wine and left a freshly iced cup next to the bottle.

"Thanks, Isaac. You always know best."

"Of course," he nodded on his exit.

"Idiots. As if I don't pay them enough to master a bloody power slide."

The Heiress slammed her roster pad on the desk. It had only been weeks into the new season and already things were not running as smoothly as she hoped. With that feather brained television anchor now co-hosting with a pretty faced partner and a rack to match, it was enough to at least keep the male viewers watching. Even with snack vendors that could pass for swimsuit models, ratings were still diminishing.

With the promise of new blood and some variety into the new season, Rayn had hoped to sway the crowds into forgetting some of the veteran members they were used to seeing, but from the choppy results she was getting from the team she had seemingly over paid and over trained for such a botched up job, it was no wonder why it would take a lot more than that to maintain their slot in prime time.

Edje. Shiv. Cutter.

And Razer.

Completely gone. Missing. Dead. Ever since the Butcheree incident, who knows?

As if their disappearance wasn't a mystery in itself, what Rayn found the most curious is how what was left of Mizo's staff stood on board. Although the papers covered the Butcheree Cliff's chaos well as an electrical malfunction in where most inmates or faculty were kept unharmed, she expected that when the real gossip got out, any true loyalist to Mizo would turn in their pink slip, if they even had the courtesy to do that much.

She had the grounds and ocean by Butcheree searched thoroughly and there was no body – Razer's body, that is. As far as she knew, Razer was dead. She had ordered the search because now that she was taking legal possession of Mizo's racing corporation and Razer was named his inheritor, she would need proof of his death to present to the bank when it came to transferring property deeds, re-buying the routes used for the races etcetera etcetera – definitely not for personal reasons, of course. And though she could not find physical proof of his death, the bank was well aware of Razer's imprisonment prior to Butcheree's incident and was therefore willing to let her transfer all the documents under her name since the legal inheritor could not utilize the business or it's land.

In theory, once she received the legal papers from the safety deposit box that Razer had so kindly given her the key to, running the Franchise should have been as easy as a bowl of instant oats. The board of big honchos hadn't changed, most of the grunge workers remained in the garages and pit lanes, and the only real differences were the four missing men. Without stardom like her golden boy Jak and enough to blackmail him with, racers of that caliber were hard to find and hard to train. And even with her best out there wreaking havoc, judging by the polls, fans were still not pleased.

Rayn Krew was not pleased.

_All right, race fans, we're back! Cherish those ocean waves people because in a few moments, they'll be drowned out by the serene sound of explosions and death!_

"All right, if they don't win this cup, some berk's taking a trip by the Dirt Stadium," the woman shouted as she raised her wine glass at the television.

* * *

"Jak, could you do me a favor and hand me the car jack?" Keira chuckled, "And no pun intended."

"Need help?" Jak offered, turning his attention from the television to his mechanic who was just about to upgrade his wheels.

The woman eyed the sleeping Ottsel curled up on one of her garage shelves and winked, "Sure. Could use a hand."

Jak rolled up his sleeves and gently shimmied Keira out of the way. "H-hey, I said I needed help, not for you to take over. This stuff's a woman's job."

Jak grunted as he loosened the wheel lugs one at a time, the veins in his forearms pronouncing his strength with every twist. After he'd gotten the tire disconnected from the vehicle, he jested, "A woman's job? I think you're confused."

"Oh? Am I?"

Expecting a good swat across the back of his skull, he rephrased himself, "You're a woman who's really good at a man's job."

"Don't you mean I'm a woman who's really good at a job most men _wish_ they were good at?"

The slap arrived as predicted and he chuckled. "Of course, _that's_ what I meant."

The television skipped and buzzed. Keira stood up to straighten the picture with a good fisting.

_All right, race fans, we're back! Cherish those ocean waves people because in a few moments, they'll be drowned out by the serene sound of explosions and death!_

"Jak, why are we watching this again? I don't know about you, but Kras left me with nothing but trauma, despite the luxury cars that I got to take apart."

"Torn's order. Believe me, I don't miss the cigar and hip-hog burger smell from their garage anymore than you do, but it seems Ash insists we keep an eye open at least for a while. Just in case anything fishy happens."

_All right folks, it's only half of the first lap and how disappointing - no one's dead yet._

"Hmm, still pissed about Rayn's little goodbye gift, is she?"

"Yeah, she's a little fired up. If you thought she hated Krew's daughter before, and all Rayn did was confirm her suspicions, the Governor is probably crossing her fingers at any excuse to stick our noses into their business. Seriously though, I've had it with the Krew family. Rayn seemed nice enough, but-"

_Second lap and a bunch of misfired Eco weapons. Come on guys, what is this, the kiddie league? Anyway, Iceland still in the lead._

"Ah, Jak. Sometimes, you wear your heart on your sleeve."

The man paused, finishing up on the tire before mumbling, "I don't hate the girl, but I guess I am getting soft."

The mechanic leaned over for a kiss and caught Jak off-guard. An idea struck them both at the same time and after exchanging a suggestive look, Jak was about to lead his girlfriend upstairs when the television cackled.

_Wait! What is- what is this? _

_Four vehicles have come flying out of the freight containers, I repeat, illegal drivers have just entered the circuit! Waking up the fans with a Super Nova straight into Iceland's driver on first and sending third swerving into a fatal tumble thanks to a volley of Skullsplitters!_

Eyes wide, Jak and Keira stared. She hadn't realized she was clutching onto Jak's collar until he covered her hands with his own.

"J-Jak? You don't think-"

"Yeah, I think Ash just got what she wished for…"

* * *

The freight containers were pitch black and even with his lighter on, Razer could barely make out the ticking hands on his watch. It was thanks to Anchor's crew that he and his team could make the event unnoticed, the perfect wake up call for both the fans and his rival. After all, it was so quiet out in the stands, if it weren't for Edje's impatient spews of profanity and Shiv telling him to shove it every couple of seconds, Razer would have been lulled to sleep.

"Boss," his walkie cackled. At least Cutter was dependable for not filling the air with prattle, unless of course, Edje provoked it. Today though, Shiv played Edje's victim.

"I'm listening."

"We're out in sixty."

"All right, boys, let's clamp our yap traps and put on a show. Kras misses us," Razer announced, revving his engine and indulging in the smell of exhaust.

"Ah, ain't it great to be home, Boss?"

Finally Edje had said something worthy of answering. It'd been months that he'd been recovering, scheming and tying loose ends. There would be much to catch up on with the Krew Princess, that is, if she didn't want to kill him first.

"I agree, but home is best without uninvited guests over…"

Shiv beat Edje to the last word with an unusually heartening cheer before the sunlight would whiten everything, the smoke guiding them to their beloved road.

"Hell yeah! Let's take back what's ours."

Razer might have even heard a shout from Cutter drowned beneath the mass of screaming audience members. However, once the first vehicle came into view, his vision reddened, and with predatory intent, his fists yanked the lever and summoned a Super Nova, the sharp whistle a proclamation of his intrusion.

* * *

"I'm coming, Mistress!" Isaac shouted, cocking his shotgun as he bolted through the door with two of Rayn's muscles.

Rayn was standing frozen in the middle of the office, hands over her mouth as she gawked up at the screens.

"Are you all right, my dear? I heard a scream."

The Heiress barely nodded, shooing away all but her butler as she continued to stare. Her announcer had been cut off and replaced by a tasteless party-themed alternative song. Four drivers had just catapulted into the races, taking advantage of the confusion and sending half of both teams colliding and exploding into ember and smoke within seconds.

"Someone's hacked the broadcasting station?" Isaac exclaimed, shaking his master who wordlessly had her eyes glued to the race. He stopped, recognizing the glimmer in her eyes transforming from shock to excitement.

He waited. Waited. And it came.

"Woo! That's right, you grotty dozy, into the ocean and off my circuits for cocking up the job I paid you too much for!"

Her butler raised a brow. He could have _sworn_ that was one of _their_ men.

"That's how I bloody like it, ey, off a cliff and straight into a plume of oblivion- wait, I've said that before, haven't I?"

"I apologize, but it becomes rather difficult to keep track of your random spurts of maliciousness at times."

The Crime Lord lent him a smirk before kicking off her heels and hopping closer to the screen.

"Is that Iceland bricking it? I can't believe it. The Nancy boy pulled over and ran."

The woman hooted, slapping her knees and cheeks as red as her lipstick. Clearly, she couldn't have been more pleased, despite that the drivers weren't her own.

"If you don't mind my asking, but just in case, you _are_ aware of who those drivers are, right, milady?"

Without tearing her eyes from the action, she laughed, "I do! And I can't wait to butcher them when this is all done! My hands are shaking just with the thought alone, Isaac, you haven't the slightest clue."

"I'll take your word for it."

She caught her servant with an added bob to his usually rigid stance. Turned out that the new audio was a bit catchy after a good listen.

"Burn it to the ground, ey?"

The song faded, the third lap coming to an end and all the initial racers forcefully and fatally ejected from the race aside from one of hers, veering behind and making third place in front of one of the four mystery drivers. Least one of 'em took notes during training.

The fans were going crazy! Drinks chucked into the roads, men shrieking in soprano and women flashing their bosoms at the cameras. They loved it! Gobbled it right up.

"Shall I ring up the muscles?" Isaac offered.

"Hmm. Give word to Security: Pink slip to the clots that managed to live. Don't touch the one that crossed the finish line though. Not too shabby, that chap, we can still polish him up."

"And the, ahem,_ illegal_ drivers?"

"Bah. Hand me a fresh bottle of red wine. Let's be hospitable to our new guests, shall we?"

* * *

Upon her butler's exit, Rayn Krew let down her hair and chugged down at least a fourth of the new bottle Isaac had handed her. Either she had finally gone looney or this was one of the best things that had ever happened to her.

She hadn't any_ idea_ how to feel. Mostly she was ecstatic. It was the most exhilarating race she'd seen air yet since her take over months ago. She almost ran out of the office herself, ready to snatch the nearest soft drink and join the fans in flinging it over the rails.

She was also confused, perhaps a tad angry. After all, if they'd come all this way, it wasn't so that they could kindly help her raise ratings, but to stir up a bit of trouble.

But that was all right for the Crime Lord. Kras had been quiet since the Butcheree incident. Maybe trouble was just what the doctor ordered. She was shoving her bangs out of her face and guzzling her wine when the expected knock on her door finally came. The woman sat cross-legged on her desk, her grin as wide as a piss-artist.

"Come on in, boys," she shouted, rewarding herself to another sip as the man of the hour waltzed in. The rest of the group followed and she asked, "None of my men gave you too much trouble, I hope?"

"None at all, Miss Krew. In fact, I'm surprised."

"Yeah, me too. Bunch of cannibals just fattening us up before dinner-" Edje remarked before Razer hushed him.

Razer looked well. The scruff she last remembered, as smooth as a baby's bottom, his signature coat playing off his bright eyes and in spite of the newly added slant in his step, his stride was still purposeful, and arrogant.

"Surprised, are you?"

"Yes. I did not expect that you'd be so - _eager_ to catch up on old times."

They paused, allowing the reality to settle and Rayn, tempted to pinch herself just for confirmation.

"Wine, anyone?"

Razer accepted the half empty bottle and knowingly shoved it into Edje's chest before swatting them away. Shiv as social as usual and Cutter, still adorned in his mask, left wordlessly on cue.

"The headlines are declaring your cousin's death. My congratulations on ridding the city of what would have been - an _irksome_ obstacle."

"I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about, Razer. What happened to my cousin was a rather unfortunate accident," she winked as she circled her desk to reach for the copy of the deeds that he'd so graciously given her upon his- death? Temporary leave? Whatever.

"All right then. To business, shall we?"

"You read me like a book, Miss Krew."

"Yes, yes, what do you want so that I can counter it with some legal jargon? Make it quick."

"Well, Rayn," he returned to calling her by first name, bringing with it millions of snippets, nostalgia of their bickering with her back against a locker, oil on their fingers and the spice of his shampoo. The brief reminiscence made her confront his gaze head on as he slipped out a document from inside his coat. "I've stopped by to give you this. It seems you're behind on your payments."

"Payments- what? Cobblers. Let me see that."

It was a moment while she skimmed before finally slamming her desk and returning to her anticipated position in front of him.

"An eviction notice? You have no right, Razer. Those deeds were legit. This Franchise is mine."

"Correct. However, being named the sole inheritor of Mizo's Franchise, and now no longer declared deceased in Kras' records, and trust me, I fixed that yesterday, this company is no longer yours. And neither is the land it sits on, no matter which city."

"What? Wait-"

"Come on, Rayn. You should know better. Read the fine print before you break out the party poppers. You were aware that the deeds were Partnership Titles, weren't you?"

"Yes, regardless of my bewilderment, I am far from daft. Mizo had a Title as General and left it open for a Sleeping Partner, in which I assumed he left in the event that he had an heir by blood, after all, bagger or not, I assume he wanted a child eventually – an heir to observe until he was wise enough to take over."

"That is where you're mistaken, Rayn. Mizo _always_ had a Sleeping Partner, but it wasn't intended for a son.

The Title was active and that partner was none other than his most trusted lieutenant – me. Sure, I had no involvement in running the corporation, but I still had my benefits. And when the great Mizo met his end, perhaps you were so bored at the reading of his Will, that you missed that very important detail.

The clauses state that in the event of the General's death or retirement, the Sleeping Partner, who then is promoted as the new General, would inherit the company. Or did you think my early retirement from the Circuits was just a product of lucid tedium?"

"I've done my reading, Razer. In the event of the General's death, if there was no inheritor, then the Title was free to claim. For example, in your case for the past few months before you seemingly rose from the dead."

"Yes, but like I just previously announced, much to your displeasure – I live. Now your ownership is a farce. And if you wish to defend your documents against mine in the court of law, you know as well as I do that in this corrupted city, the judge chooses the one with the most-"

Razer's final word hissed, "Power…"

The Krew Heiress let that last word simmer. For good reason, he had used that tone. What did he have up his sleeve; Rayn was about to find out.

The woman's voice lowered to match his, forcing the pair to close in on one another, a familiar scene that has played between them many times before.

"Well if we're judging by _power_, I'd have to say that with Mizo's passing and half of your men defecting or returning to ordinary civilian life," she walked two fingers up his arm before stopping at his shoulder, "I. Win."

There was a pause between them. Rayn's hand parked over his shoulder and the champion, unmoved. She could still feel it though- the hovering of his fangs over her neck.

"I'm afraid, you're mistaken again."

"Care to clarify?"

The racer caught her idle fingers into his and answered, "The Mizo family has become a Syndicate - an alliance."

_A Syndicate? But that could only mean-_

"Who in their right mind? What other enemies do I have that I am unaware of?"

"Perhaps an old friend would be a more appropriate term. I trust that you are familiar with the name, Theodore Fratto."

The man emphasized every syllable in the name as if he expected her to question her ears before he even said it. And when she snatched her hand as if she weren't the one that offered in the first place, it was clear that she _had_ heard.

"What. About. _Theodore_?"

"Judging by your look of exasperation, I take that as a yes?"

"Yes. He's dead. What does he have to do with any of this?"

"Well, it just so happens that," Razer fiddled with the cigarette tucked behind his ear, "Theo was a good friend of mine; The Frattos, good friends of the Mizo family for many years. And upon Theo's death, a bounty was placed on the man who was responsible for the Fratto son's murder."

"James McSweeney."

"I was unaware of your connection until recently, and so back then, fulfilling the bounty was nothing more than an unpaid debt to a good friend of the family, as well as a chance at redemption for one of my fellow racers."

"But didn't James disappear for years?"

"Yes. Time passed, his bounty became less of a priority and Mizo distracted by business. When word of your arrival into Kras first came, it was good enough reason to pique James' interest. The rest is history.

As a matter of fact, I owe you a word of thanks. In spite of my Boss' passing and your hand in it, if you had never shown your face here, James would not have sought the opportunity that he did – a weakness amidst our war, between Krew and Mizo. And that opening is what led him to approach me with an offer I could not refuse."

"My head on a platter," Rayn scoffed, in disbelief that her research had been lacking so much as to cost her now. How she had missed these details, she could only guess.

The Champion had managed to pull the wool over her eyes. How mortified she felt from being so one-upped! And as a result of her lost pride, Rayn Krew vowed to see to the disposal of some lacking employees later, to ensure that an incident such as this never happened again.

"That is correct. It was an easy ploy to gain his trust, a combination guaranteed to work proven by what was formerly supposed to be an alliance between your father and Floyd McSweeney – your arranged marriage to James. James approached me and offered to eliminate or absorb my enemy, his ex-fiancée to begin anew, in order to remedy his mistakes with his family by presenting his father with new business outlets."

"I see," the princess took a swig at her new bottle of wine, "And where did my survival fit into these _meticulous_ plans or was my life forfeit from the very start?"

"That," the lieutenant paused to juggle words, "You can call a last minute improvisation."

"I beg your pardon?" the woman could feel the heat rise in her cheeks. For someone who allowed Mizo to hold the reigns for years without any implications of wanting a turn, Razer appeared mighty smug in the driver's seat – now waltzing into her office and suddenly proving to be a more skilled leader than she?

_Rubbish._

It seemed like a bad joke. The day her mother died, she had simultaneously lost a father whose only family was the weapons in his gallery and the Zoomers in his garage. And when she was finally old enough to inherit the things that her father loved most, perhaps_ finally_ gain his approval and prove that she was her own woman, with or without James, her father had been killed - and by whom?

None other than the heroic eco boy that was the embodiment of all the sorts of things she could never have in a man because she was too tainted to maintain him. Then she had to blackmail this boy and his friends, grow some attachment and have to kick 'em to the curb before she was distracted from her initial goal – to make her daddy proud.

But just as Jak served as a sour reminder of all the normality's that she'd be eternally excluded from due to the nature of her family business, the symbol of her most private infatuations and ambitions had been named as the man between her and her father's approval.

Razer.

_Damn it, Razer! I've locked you up, tried to kill you, tried to be nice as well, kept these blinking clots of yours on my payroll, and I've managed to keep the Franchise from plummeting into bankruptcy - and this is my reward?_

It was almost too much to bear. The woman was searching for words, for action, and found instead, that time had slowed. She was thumbing the wine bottle in her hand - the thought of cracking it over the racer's head, becoming a tempting reality.

* * *

This was a delicate matter. He'd have to treat it as so. His intention was not to have Krew snap her heavies into opening fire and turning the Circuit into a shoot out. There was a purpose he had in mind, and even if she did refuse the proposal he was about to make, he hoped to resolve it without blood spilled, at least until the Franchise became stable again.

His expertise lied in racing, knife throwing and evasive banter. Having his guard down was- difficult. And so, Razer sort of let mindless babble fall out of his mouth and it was most likely not his best choice of words.

"That, you can call a last minute improvisation."

"I beg your pardon?"

The Heiress was the reddest he'd ever seen. He observed the way she tested the bottle in her hand and decided on not defending. Instead, he waited. If his intuition was correct and he had not yet turned senile, Krew would not take this to the extreme, at least yet. She was reasonable enough to offer options, intelligent enough to decide if those options were worth it and one who had the talent to exploit that option for more than it was originally worth. It was why he wanted her for this- _needed_ her. He had to get this done right.

Just when the man thought she might explode into a tuft of smoke, laughter ensued instead – or more like a cackle.

"You've got me, Razer, bang to rights. And as the last respectable power left in the Krew family, you leave me with no choice, but to accept this defeat with grace – or at least for the time being."

_Defeat? _

Now_ there_ was a word the Champion was astonished to find in her vocabulary. She was most definitely going to have him iced later – or she'd try.

"So before you kill me or release me or whatever, please humor me with one small detail."

"What is it?"

"I had the grounds of Butcheree turned upside down after your fall. I saw the forensics and I still can't fathom it. How did you survive?"

Razer smiled. It seemed now she was ready to hear his secrets.

"I landed the ocean when I fell and avoided the crags by a lucky break due to Officer Weasley. The officer turned yellow and fled from the prison the moment the lights went out and by the time he had made it, the least he could do was save the body he had spotted crashing into the sea."

"But even if Weasley had the fins of a Lurker Shark, your injuries, there was no way-"

"I owe Shiv many lifetimes of gratitude, believe me."

Before the woman could even think of budging, he walked her back into the desk, the edge catching her abruptly as she hiccupped.

"Rayn Krew, daughter of Mizo's greatest enemy, has she finally suffered defeat or is she still willing to lend me an ear for another moment?"

"I don't suppose you're inviting me out for a bevvy?"

"As always, Rayn, your humor charms me."

The Champion revealed to her another set of documents.

"What, pray tell, is this?"

"I will only make this proposition once."

There was a stall.

"Marry me, Rayn Krew, and I can promise that the rewards you'll reap will be beyond your wildest dreams, all in due time, of course."

She squinted as if to confirm he wasn't a hallucination before she had up and snatched her heat from a drawer and pinned it to his chest, the click of the safety a distinct sound over their silence.

Ah. He was waiting for this…

"I refuse. How _dare_ you make the same cockamamie deal that James did."

"Look at the papers, Rayn."

"I can't believe- the gall-"

"Rayn. _Look_ at the papers."

* * *

Her finger itched to relive their last moments in Butcheree despite that her joints were too stiff to pull through with it. And so she did what he asked.

The first few lines made her head sway and she had to do a double to confirm that she hadn't misread.

"It's a hole in my heart, Rayn. Had it all my life. It's hereditary. Most of the men in my family don't get past their forties, stroke or cardiac arrest."

"That can't be right. I've done a background check on you. Nothing like that has ever-"

"Mizo did well to keep our health and family matters private."

It definitely explained the added limp to his walk, a possible after effect to cardiac troubles from the accident.

"Well barmy, how ironic is that? A hole in your heart."

Ignoring any innuendos from that comment, the man returned to the topic at hand.

"Beneath these medical records is a copy of an original and updated Title deed, one that will be put into action if you accept this agreement. Right now I am in a two way partnership with Lucas Fratto, Theo's father, but that document will not only make you a third, but will guarantee that my widow will inherit my Title upon my- well, _you_ know.

After all, while I appreciate Lucas' assistance in expanding the family, his expertise lies in martial arts, not in racing and I will feel at peace leaving the company in more capable hands.

If you reject this offer, however, I will have the original document burned immediately and you will never get this opportunity again."

When he looked to her for an apparent answer, her own heart was beating so loudly in her ears, it took her a second to realize his speech was over. Once again, Mar had a wondrous sense of humor when it came to her life.

Razer was dying?

The idea was absurd! It was as if someone was trying to convince her that she could kill with her mind and strut through walls. Razer, Mizo's most successful racing Champion for years, the man whom she admired on her bulletin board on a day to day basis as a high school girl, was in reality facing an unpredictable and natural death?

Keeping her pistol snug to his chest, she suggested another option that he hadn't offered.

"Why would I accept such terms when I can just rid myself of the nuisance altogether?"

To her astonishment, the racer still had not whipped out any knives or guns. He did not ready his fists. Instead, he leaned forward. Rayn could feel her shoulders shrink inward.

"This gun is loaded," she warned.

"Remind me, Rayn, why is it that you never iced your Haven team after last year's Grand Prix? Could it have been your attachment to your golden boy or was it that you knew he'd be too much trouble to dispose of?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I wonder if I were shot, right here, and now, without our agreement being finalized, who is written as my inheritor in the event of my death?"

Her eyes widened.

_Jak…_

"You're bluffing."

"Am I? That is for you to decide."

"But you loathe him."

"I do, but how does he feel about you? With your betrayal no longer kept under wraps, what do you think he'd do with the very Franchise that was not only owned by his enemy, but one that almost killed the people he cared for thanks to your trickery?"

When she had realized it, her gun had already lowered. As she calmly slid it onto her desk, the man was upon her, his arms trapping her from escape on both sides and his nose threatening to collide with hers.

When she could not breath at all, he took a deep breath in, reminding her to so the same.

_Breathe…_

"Why me?"

"I'm only going to say this once.

I want _you_, Rayn Krew. Regardless of your back talk and your spoiled tantrums, there can be no other with both your skill and your knack to, for lack of better words, keep me on my toes. It can only _be_ you. As my wife, as my inheritor and as the one who will keep this business thriving when I've taught you all that life has allowed me."

When Rayn was empty of smart remarks to counter, he eased away.

"I will give you twenty-four hours before I burn the original document, Rayn. You can either accept the offer or return to our blood feud in where you will continuously attempt to be rid of me once and for all-

- But I think we both know how that has worked out for you," he took her hand in his own, and placed it gently over the spot where she had shot him at point blank range and he survived against all odds. The woman was too shocked to resist.

Twenty-four hours.

Nostalgia had struck her and here she was, in a position where once again, her decision could make or break her. She had to choose wisely.

"Well, Princess, I have yet to make a complete recovery and so I plan on returning to my loft for some much needed dusting and a book that I've never finished. When you have your answer, come find me."

The racer boldly reached out and tapped her chin upward to meet his gaze. Damn habit of hers. On his exit, he waved, "I look forward to your reply."

Even as she watched the door close behind him, Rayn was motionless, speechless and maybe even for a second, her brain had stopped functioning. Her hand hung awkwardly in the air, its warmth lost with the absence of his body. The man was long gone, abandoning her with a million thoughts to sift through.

"Probably- I should-"

Rayn growled, turning to the wine bottle on her desk before she hurled it across the room. The broken glass rung like a cluster of tiny bells, red wine blossoming against her wallpaper before it clawed repulsively to the matching carpet below. Her fury at its height, she toppled down chairs, yanked down picture frames and dented her desk. This time Isaac hadn't come running because he'd known better than to interrupt what Razer might refer to as one of her spoiled tantrums. She hadn't noticed the tears until she spotted the black streaks on her forearms.

Not only had he proved to her that her skills weren't mature enough to maintain this corporation, but lacked the wit to detect the scheme he had pulled and her blood thirst not adequate enough to bump off a single man.

It brought her back to the celebration she had in the Bloody Hook, after basking in a hug from Jak before leaving behind her father's last surprise, and she had made that haughty phone call.

"My father was too soft," she bragged, "This city is mine."

How high she soared then. How mighty she felt. And now, for the first time since her mother's passing, she received harsh discipline in the most unlikely of places to show that she still had ways to go and was in many ways, just as soft as her father was.

"I should kill that man!" she shouted.

_And I will prove him wrong._

* * *

When Razer returned home, it felt as if he'd been away too long. His lawn was a picture of a real estate magazine's luxury home, sleek, modern, and uninhabited – cold. Everything was familiar, but surreal beneath the lacey layers of dust and neglect. After he'd spent a few hours briefing the boys, re-arranging some paperwork for employees eager to return under his wing and had a quick chat with his lawyer, the sun had tucked itself away.

When he cast his coat across his leather sofa, his stomach nagged for nourishment at the sight of his kitchen. Away for many months, there would be nothing in his fridge save for the light bulb and a carton of milk he had asked Cutter to drop off on his way home to his wife. Starved as he was, his body objected to any further labor and so he resorted to a cup of water with his pills, vowing to order out after some proper rest.

"_Scheiße_," he cursed to himself, "It's too early to feel this damn old."

His stereo coughed and spurted out a decades old classic, gently easing the retiree into replaying the day's events as he cut through his living room.

He'd never seen Rayn so infuriated and had she not shot him once already, he would have expected that she'd do so then. He _did_ have it coming.

Months ago, Razer had come closest to cheating death than he ever had before. It was an unexpected and reckless gamble. Frankly, when he had woken up in a stretcher overseas a week later with Shiv looking over him, he was shocked. Razer was the type of man to approach all situations coolly. One who panics cannot make the right decisions.

But when he was looking over that cliff next to Rayn Krew, her bloodied torso and his shirt hanging over her, making jabs about bath soaks and _nutella_, it must have been the lack of medication ever since his imprisonment in Butcheree. Perhaps some of that heart medicine screwed with his brain. And what he used as an escape method and a hand out for Cutter, it may have been nothing more than a man's way of ending his pill ritual just so that he could break the wind in his Havoc for another day in the afterlife.

And he had a lot of time to think after the Butcheree incident. With Shiv breathing down his neck and not having to suffer consequences due to his Capo's inability to move, Razer wasn't left with much choice.

Somehow, he came to this conclusion. Despite that Mizo had probably intended to kill him for his failure during the Blue Eco Cup against Jak, Razer still loved the Franchise. Rayn was a very stubborn woman who wanted the same things he did except there was still a matter of if they could share without murdering one another. The marriage seemed the best option. Both Krew and Mizo suffered causalities, lost their leaders and were too weak to stand on their own for too long. So rather than perish, judging by the way he managed to soften her the night they spent together, how easily she curled into him once she was too tired to backtalk, Razer figured that the agreement wasn't an entirely inconceivable one. Their feud had been one between Family Heads that were now deceased.

As the Champion made his way up to his bedroom, he stopped mid-staircase when he noted the sweet and subtle odor in the air. Welcoming the challenge, the man forged ahead and when he stepped in, his expectations had been rewarded, and his previous thoughts on whether or not Rayn found their marriage agreement inconceivable, answered.

"Miss me, Ducky?" The pumpkin spice was strong against his back, foiled by the ice thinned across his gullet.

"Miss Rayn Krew. Is this how you express gratitude for the man who let you live?"

"Hah! I still have a debt to pay for that cheeky little reunion you quite literally threw me into knees first a few months back. And those shoes I lost? 'Till this day, I've been unable to replace them. They were a one of a kind pair, Razer, comfy too."

"I find it hard to believe that you were anything close to comfort if you walked on nothing, but box cutters most of your day. And the payback, I thought we were past that. I let you shoot me, remember?"

Her laugh rumbled against him. "Is that what you're chalking it up to now a days? I know we worked as a team on our escape from that blasted place, but the bullet was coming, believe me, as soon as we set one toe onto safe-"

"My boys would have arrived on time to retrieve me, leaving room to deal with you however I deemed fit."

There was a moment of hesitation in which Razer sought to take advantage of but she was a step ahead for once, holding the sharp object fast and straight against his windpipe. Even without any help from her, any wrong move on his part, and his neck was a garden hose.

"Turn around, Razer" she commanded, much to his surprise since she'd be giving up her advantageous position, but he obeyed. If he could get close enough to his headboard, this one sided threat could transform into a duel of blade against pistol within seconds. For now though, he'd play the victim and humor her.

Both hands raised in surrender, when the man had spun to face her, what confronted him was not at all what he expected. Baffled, he asked, "Is that- my shirt from when you slept here last?"

"Yes?" She shrugged with nonchalance, "I've become accustomed to it. Any objections?"

Despite the sharp object still teasing his chin, after giving her body a vertical sweep with his eyes, he smirked.

"None at all." After all, apparently his shirt was all she was wearing, its lapel loosened to its third button and the ends parachuting around her scarcely concealed thighs. Coyly, she pulled away, and before Razer could take the chance to get on the offensive, she revealed her deadly weapon.

A fork?

The woman pushed him onto the mattress, the springs squeaking as she dominated. Overshadowing his body with her own, she straddled him, fork aimed toward his face.

"Razer, Razer, Razer. You have proved to be a very problematic person in my life. How's a girl to deal?"

"I'm hurt, Princess, that my charm does not outweigh all the cons."

"I should have you killed. I think you've earned it, don't you think?"

"You really liked those shoes, didn't you?"

Her stomach hovered over his when she leaned over. The overly large collar yawned and darkened what his eyes were drawn to, but wre unable to see. The Mizo enforcer's fingers squeezed her calves as the Heiress continued to twirl the fork.

When she sighed, their abdomens had met for just a second before she sat back up and settled over his waist, crossed arms and scratching her chin with the kitchen utensil.

"I did love them. But that's beside the point.

Every fiber in my being juggles between your disposal or finding some further use in this- _relationship_ of ours and well, after your proposal, and a quick call to the hospital from where your medical records were hidden, I've come to a realization."

Spreading his hands from her calves to her waist, he was disappointed to find that she was wearing panties. He'd have to see to that later. "And what is that?"

She poked his chin with the fork again and tilted her head girlishly. "I've realized that it isn't any fun anymore. You've bodged it all up.

All this time I wanted nothing more than to degrade Mizo and his leftovers into nothing more than soot beneath my boot. And I was close to doing just that. I've shot you once. And I could have chosen something other than a fork and had been done with it now, but-"

"But?"

"There's just no fun in killing a man that's ready to die and will die regardless of whether or not I have a hand in it."

Rayn was focused on a bag of _nutella_ and two cups of coffee she had brewed earlier, resting on the opposite end of his bed as she spoke. His hot hands over her waist was less of a discomfort than she thought and the woman worked to find the right words to define this- this _thing_ between them without losing her pride as Crime Lord.

Her flirtatious and at moments, pokerfaced tone was duly noted by the Mizo lieutenant and he could respect her for it. Had she come floating into his home disillusioned with talk of a happily ever after straight from a folk tale, it would have been cringe worthy. No. His proposal was just that. A business transaction that luckily for the two, they had their physical attraction to one another as a perk. And should it evolve into more, than so be it. But just as he hoped, she was mulling over the options he'd given her, ready to approach the deal as a parasite would it's host when the time was right.

"And so, what conclusion have you come to, Krew Heiress? Please, spare me any further anticipation."

"I've decided," she took the fork's points into her mouth and chewed, "That if I can't get satisfaction out of killing you, then-

I'm just going to have to make the remainder of your life as miserable as I can instead."

Her devilish grin had finally blossomed and now that his life was no longer in acute danger, as if it ever was in the first place, the Champion stole the dominant role quickly. Despite the injuries from Butcheree, the healing bullet wound and cardiac trouble, that was responsible for the tilt in his stride, he was still one of Kras' most wanted.

Her laughter fluttered and echoed throughout the loft that was lifeless only minutes ago when he rolled her over, pinned her beneath him and effortlessly captured the fork, sending it darting into the pastry bag she had placed three feet away. Double-checking the arches of her feet, she kicked and clawed at his shoulders.

"You can try, Miss Krew. You can try."

Her feet were clean of cutters and with her body clad in his large dress shirt; it was obvious that the fork was her only object of intimidation, meant for their snack rather than an execution. When they had settled, Rayn wrapped a leg over him and invited him closer to her. Lips to his ear, she whispered, "I've learned something, Razer."

"Do tell."

"The time of day best for an attack, as proven by our little Butcheree experience, is the morning. You're most off guard when you first wake up because you have already made the assumption that with a safe night, comes with it, reassurance once the sun rises."

Pressing a gentle kiss to his ear, she finished, "And just think, my darling husband, that every single morning, you will wake to a woman who has already shot you once."

That was when he moved to cover and extinguish her prattle with his mouth over hers. She could feel his smile as he kissed her, a hand supporting her head as the other tested the rims of her silky lingerie. Parting with a satisfied hum, he was already lifting for their pastries but not without scooping her body with him. As the woman settled between his knees and was given her share of sugary treats along with her coffee, Razer expressed his contentment with an added hum to his first bite. Finding that the _nutella_ was lacking one flavor in particular, the racer tucked his chin over her shoulder before giving it a nibble.

"Somehow, Fräu, I'm hardly worried."

* * *

**Present Day**

"W- What?"

Thunder had shaken the entire apartment, cracking past the bedroom window and jolting Cutter – Donovan, awake. It was the loudest he'd ever heard in a while, as if the Gods had just witnessed blasphemy and voiced their protest. Donovan was not fond of the cold that the lightning had struck into his bones. If there were any deeper meaning to the weather, he had a feeling that he'd find out later.

"Donny?" Vera rose from his chest, wiping the sleep from her eyes before she found his. As always, the man froze, unsure of whether she'd scream or settle into him again. It hadn't been long since he stopped wearing his mask and ever since, it had been both harder and easier on the couple.

It felt like yesterday when he stormed in the night of the Butcheree incident, cast Ruby on an overdue vacation in where she left yelling, "'bout damn time," and threw his mask off.

"I can't stand hiding anymore, baby," he confessed, tears dribbling off his chin, dry blood caked onto his clothing and his knees, seconds from giving out. At first she hopped away with a shriek, threw everything she could get her hands on at him. Picture frames, pillows, dishes, and no matter what she threw, Donovan kneeled humbly in their living room and took it. It wasn't until she had revealed the pieces of their vase from the accident that she finally stopped.

She burst into tears at the sight of it, cradled the shards as if the last of her husband was the vase itself and not the man before her. And after what felt like an eternity of the fighter staring at the floor drowning in his own sobs, she approached him and boldly lifted his face with both hands.

"Donovan."

"Yes, Vera."

"You're not the same man I married, are you?"

With despair, he could only shake his head despite the double meaning in her question. And then the unexpected occurred. She took him into a painfully tight embrace. He wasn't sure if she was trying to suffocate him or hold on, and either way, he held her back. They stood this way for many hours, until their knees ached and their calves had needles.

The next morning she woke up to find him cleaning up the aftermath of their mess and Vera moved to the kitchen. Fearfully, he called out to her, "Vera?"

She spun around, as if their tearful dispute had never happened, with a grin as wide as the day he first proposed to her.

"I'm in the mood to bake some of that Zuchini bread. Want some, Donny?"

And he smiled, "Love some."

The next day they had crossed the ocean. He had completed business with the Boss as he recuperated and ran proceedings with the Fratto family. In between he took Vera to the market where they bought their favorite jam, took her to the little house they once lived in, and the spot where they were brought together by a jar of pasta sauce on his car.

It still took some getting used to. Having to remind and refresh his wife's memory on a day-to-day basis. But she was improving. She had her days.

"It's just a storm," Donovan whispered to his wife, his hands up as if in surrender until she either registered or rejected him. A lazy smile about her, she brushed back her apricot strands and pressed her cheek against him again.

"I had a bad dream, is all."

"Yeah? What about?"

"We were in a car accident, Donny. It was real bad. I heard our vase break and I thought, I thought that it was the end."

Squeezing her shoulder, the fighter reassured his wife, "Don't worry, baby. It's not the end. The bad guy's gone already."

"You sure? You'll always stay here?"

"With your Zuchini bread, Vera, how could I ever leave?"

She gave him a playful punch before she let herself slip into slumber once again. Before she was completely knocked out, she whispered against his stomach.

"I- forgive you, Donny."

Donovan had to bite back his emotion because he didn't want to wake her again.

"I forgive me, too…"

~FIN~

* * *

**A/N: Sorry I was too lazy for putting up a glossary. It was hard to write this ending. At first it was a lot more legal jargon, Rayn was less badass and the ending, without much closure. So this is version two? And a half?**

**Anyway, I wanted to leave some mystery because as we all know, adventures never end in the Jak world. I'm sure Jak and Co. will be butting heads with Kras very soon, after all, why not go back and conquer the city your father grew up in anyway?**

**Bah. Long story, a lot of experimentation in it and I'm still not quite sure if it was all worth it. I enjoyed writing it though. I'm also relieved it's over. I hope others enjoyed it just as much. Now hopefully I can finish that Torn piece I'd been working on – after I graduate har har. Until next time…**


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